


Fresh Start

by CaptainAssmerica, dontbecooler



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John, Blood, Blood Drinking, Holmes Brothers, Multi, POV Alternating, Past Torture, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Slavery, Supernatural Elements, Vampire Moriarty, Vampire Mycroft, Vampire Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 07:58:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 28
Words: 116,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2340938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainAssmerica/pseuds/CaptainAssmerica, https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontbecooler/pseuds/dontbecooler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is not supposed to be here.<br/>He's meant to be out, he's meant to be keeping people safe. And yet, and yet... there he was. Chained up to the other's like worthless stinking cattle. There were red eyes watching him, calculating. Would they bid? He glared at every single one. An old man man had looked at him and almost laughed. 'Watson, you've got balls of steel,' he'd said, 'they'll be quick to neuter you.'<br/>Let them try. He wasn't supposed to be here</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I'm posting an RP that went on for over a year and was recently finished. It's super duper long and I would not want it to go unshared.
> 
> Prepare yourself...  
> Prepare yourself for the crazy almost confusing POV changes of an RP with multiple main characters in different places  
> Prepare yourself for blurry time lines and probably crazy actual times where things probably don't fit together on a time line too well but also do  
> Prepare yourself for drastic character development that surprised even I when I was reading through it  
> Prepare yourself for a fic with probably a lot of flaws but took a long time to make and ends up being a bit of a masterpiece in it's own right
> 
> Prepare yourself for Fresh Start
> 
> If you have any questions please don't hesitate to ask, I hope you like it!!  
> Also I would say who was who but that kinda swapped around sometimes so the only thing I'm sure of is that I was Sherlock and Greg while Captain was John and Mycroft
> 
> ENJOY XX

John sucked in a breath as he was put in the line, cold hands shoving him forwards into the crowd. He wished his hands weren't bound as they were, or else he would have struck the stupid beast across the head for laying their hands on him, on any of them. An old woman in front of him let out a cry of woe, though she was quickly silenced by a quick snap, sharp teeth clicking in warning. John ground his own teeth, jaw hurting as he bit his lip to keep from snarling at any of them. There was no use in fighting now. He'd been stupid, foolish, and now he was going to get sold to some undead bloodsucker. He didn't know why vampires seemed so keen on having humans as slaves, pets, whatever they were to the things. Honestly, John hoped he would simply be drained instead of having to act like some dancing monkey to one of the bastards. That would be a much better fate than the other things John had heard about. A plump vampire who twirled a long ring of keys on his fingers -the keys to unlock the chains around their wrists and necks, of course- and stepped in front of the line of humans, grinning brightly at the crowd.

"Welcome, welcome." He said all too cheerily, and John fidgeted. A young, mousy haired girl next to him flicked her eyes around nervously as the vampire went on. "Now, the bidding will start in just a few minutes. Take a look around at what we have to offer for now," He moved out of the way, gesturing to the people strung and tied together like cattle. John's jaw clenched as the vampires descended forwards, bright, dead eyes wandering over the men and women. He sent a hard glare to whoever thought of even looking at him, remembering vaguely of a man sitting next to him in the cargo truck, snorting at his stubbornness. 'Watson, you've got balls of steel,' he'd said, 'they'll be quick to neuter you.' John swallowed thickly.

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes as his brother peered around the slaves.

"What about this one brother?" Said his elder, tilting the chin of a dark haired young man.

Sherlock sighed. "I don't see why I need one," he snapped, disdainfully looking over the line of sad looking people.

"Because you are royalty, Sherlock Holmes, and it is custom," quipped his brother, just as Sherlock’s red eyes settled on one person. He had dusty blonde hair, and was looking out defiantly at every vampire that dared stare at him too long. Sherlock tilted his head, walking over.

"Such soul," he breathed as he went closer. Irene, a vampire from the coven next to their territory, snorted delicately.

"He'd be fun to train for sure," she hissed. Sherlock glared at her, then turned back to the human. "I'm sorry you're here," Sherlock said to the man, completely serious. Mycroft walked up beside him.

"I'm buying you this one," he said, and Sherlock huffed childishly.

"I don't want it."

"Too bad."

Sherlock crossed his arms. He wished he hadn't turned fifty, the age that all royal vampires got their first slave.

 

John had been a bit more than disgruntled by the vampires around, though kept a stony face even when they neared, sending a particularly awful look to the female at the mention of 'training'. He was not a dog. He was not an animal. He was a man- a _human_. He didn't need _training_. And to train him what? To be dead-eyed like the sort of men and women he saw on the streets, just beyond the lining of the truck that dragged them from place to place each day? God, he hoped not.

Swallowing thickly, John flinched at the mention of buying, giving the first vampire a strange look. He was sorry? Why was he sorry? Why would he be sorry for this? Brows furrowing, John knew better than to ask the question, though the confusion quickly turned to anger as the auctioneer came waddling over, chortling as he nodded his head and seemed all too excited about this.

"Oh yes, yes, yes- a fine choice, Mr. Holmes, a very fine choice!" He praised, as if choosing John had been the best choice of their lives. John would make sure it wasn't. "Anything for you, my lords, is free." He nodded his head some more, though didn't seem too happy on that. Of course all he wanted was money for the slaves- what else would he want out of it? There was nothing else to get from it.

 

Sherlock’s eyes snapped to the auctioneer, holding out his hand for the key. The fat man cowered slightly under the gaze of the younger Holmes, while Mycoft’s tried to give an apologetic look.

"Give it to me," Sherlock growled, and hesitantly the key was placed in his palm. Immediately, Sherlock undid the lock around the blonde mans wrists and neck, multiple vampires giving him weird looks. Sherlock stepped away from the man, pursing his lips.

"You can come with us," he said in a pleasant tone, “or you can try and get out of here and probably die. I would recommend coming with us." The auctioneer looked extremely offended.

"You cannot release one of my-!" But he cut off as Sherlock growled deep in his throat.

"I do not like creatures that support mindless cruelty," he hissed, looking back into the man’s deep blue eyes. Seeing them, Sherlock could almost remember what it was like to be human. "What is your choice?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

Rubbing at his wrists, John looked in between the apparent 'Holmes' and the auctioneer for several moments. He could run right now- run and fight and do something. In all honesty, he would much rather die than be some sort of slave to the beasts, but he knew he had to survive, to live. People still needed him; there were too many lives to be saved, far too many for his own selfish wants.

"I'll come." He hissed out, making the feeling clear that he did not want this. Not at all. The tone made it clear that he was not a slave, nor an animal, nor a dog nor a pet nor anything that had an owner, a buyer, a master. He was a man, and one that desperately wanted to be free. The auctioneer seemed to twitch at the sight of John free from his bonds; there had been few times they had been taken off, and every time John had nearly ended up killing one of their workers, breaking off a piece of wood or managing to try and crush their throats with his hands somehow. They had been futile attempts, but attempts all the same.

 

Sherlock gave a small smile, despite himself. He began to walk away, and the auctioneer squawked.

"Don't just leave it!" He screamed, and Sherlock paused.

"He's following us, aren't you," he said, moving his gaze onto the man. "I would say walk by my side because there are many vampires who are looking for a drink but I don't know if you would listen. It's just an idea," he offered, beginning to walk again.

 

John looked around carefully at the vampires crowding around, swallowing thickly as he noticed their rather obvious stares to his neck. It was like putting a freshly cooked steak right in front of a pack of starving dogs, in all honesty. Survival- he had to survive. Clenching his fists at his sides, John came forwards, keeping his eyes on the ground and wishing desperately now that he could set the floor on fire as his mouth twitched into a scowl. Sure, the vampire had said he was sorry, but he was still buying him. John was a human being- not something that could be bought, not something that could be owned. Of course, his opinion didn't really seem to matter to any of them.

 

Sherlock walked straight backed, cutting down every hungry look the others were sending towards the human. Of course they had just met, but vampires were extremely possessive, so that trait was already showing.

He got to the edge of the crowd, waiting for the barely clothed man to keep up.

"Could you go any slower?" He asked in a light tone, opening the door for the human and stepping out into the night behind him. There was a lush black car already waiting, and Sherlock opened it, Mycroft crawling gracefully in first, and Sherlock motioned for the human to.

"You won't be able to find anywhere in this time of day. I recommend you get in the car," he said in a dry tone, leaning all his weight onto one hip as he gazed with red eyes at his new toy. No. He wasn’t a toy. Not for eating or playing. He wasn’t like the others. He was defiant.

 

John growled slightly, though got into the car all the same, feeling all too uncomfortable with the other vampire next to him. He wished he could scoot elsewhere, but it seemed as though he was being crowded in by them. He was rather fine with the cramped space, really- he was used to be cramped and nearly smothered by other bodies from the time spent in the trucks, and the pens the humans would be held in during the times there were no auctions. It had been slightly comforting to have others who were actually alive around, if not a bit suffocating as well. Glaring at the ground, John kept stiff and still, not wanting to touch either of them.

 

Sherlock sat straight backed, meeting Mycroft’s crimson gaze flatly. The man was sitting as stiff as a board. Sherlock flicked his gaze to the human, smirking slightly. Stubborn too.

"Do you have a name?" He asked quietly, folding his hands on his lap as he watched night-time London pass outside the window.

 

John let his gaze flit over to the vampire before raising his chin. Of course he had a name- why wouldn't he have a name? Were they truly only livestock to them? "John." He grunted out, voice stiff and decidedly bland, though held a bit of slight disdain within it.

 

Sherlock’s lips twitched. "Very creative."

John, the stubborn human. What a fitting title. The cab was slowing down, and Mycroft was fidgeting. He wanted to get back to the manor. Sherlock climbed out before the chauffeur, opening the door for the two other passengers. " _Welcome home John_ ," Sherlock said in a sarcastic tone.

The manor stood tall and dark, surrounded by well maintained grass and statues that were hiding their faces. Sherlock had never liked them. It made the Holmes' look like dark creatures. There was a fountain just before the entrance, in the middle a contorted figure crying a spewing out the water. Sherlock had never liked the fountain either.

 

John decided to give the vampire a silent glare at the mention of it being 'creative', wanting very much to wrap his hands around the others neck and possibly throttle him. Of course, that idea flew out of his head as he stepped out, frowning at the scenery. Well. It wasn't very encouraging at all. Everything was so dark, so gloomy, and John felt uncertain just standing outside of the place. He couldn't imagine what the inside was like; it already looked like some strange haunted house, though now that he was really thinking about it, it was more of a prison than anything. Everywhere he was prison, really; or at least anywhere with the vampires was. Stiffening at the sarcasm used with the words, John nearly flinched at the word 'home', lip curling upwards slightly. "This isn't home." He growled out lowly.

 

One of the large doors to the manor suddenly opened up, a head popping through as an elderly looking woman swiftly came out, far too fast in all honesty. Vampire then. Great. She came up to Sherlock, tutting and twittering about something or other. "Look at the state of you- really, Sherlock, those places are so filthy." She shook his head, dusting off the others shoulder before she looked at the state of John, gasping as she came over to the man. John instinctually flinched as she touched his shoulder, finding that it was actually much more gently than he had imagined. "Oh... the poor dear. You should really come inside for some tea- I've never drunk any of it, so we've got crates full." She quickly began to usher him inside, as if he were a guest rather than a slave. John really couldn't say he wasn't disgruntled by it, staying silent as he stared at the woman with something that clearly resembled surprise.

 

Sherlock followed Mrs. Hudson inside, smiling. The foyer was lit with soft lights of candles, the Holmes' enjoyed keeping with tradition, instead of moving along with technology. Well, only in some aspects.

 

The Holmes manor interior was a lot different to the outside. There were lush greens and deep reds, soft colors and some sharp, but none dark. The staircase banister was gold, with deep red carpet on the stairs. The tables were a lovely deep oak, adorned with lustrous silver vases and pink hibiscus flowers in them.

 

Sherlock grinned when their head butler, Lestrade, came sliding down the stair case. His silver hair gleamed in the candle light, but his face was young, and happy. "Welcome!" Greg called, landing on his feet and waltzing towards the new guy. He held out a hand, eyes sparkling. He leaned forward; whispering like it was a conspiracy. "Watch out for the vampires, there are a few around here. Don't worry, they seem mean but they're mushy on the inside." Mycroft snorted, and Lestrade flushed. "Names Gregory Lestrade, I'm head _butler_. Do you have a name son?"

 

John blinked in surprise, taking the others hand with a small bit of hesitant. He hadn't been expecting such a welcome, but couldn't say that he didn't appreciate it. "John Watson." His tone was much brighter than the one he had used with Sherlock, but really, he could hardly be blamed. He'd just been bought by him; of course he was going to be bitter about that. He wondered briefly how the human -or at least he hoped this Lestrade was human- got jobs such as butlers at the large mansion, though supposed they could have easily been bought out from slavery themselves. But no.....Greg seemed too happy for things like that. There were easily other ways he could have gotten here; could have stuck with the system that the vampires set up instead of revolted as John had.

 

Letting go of the others hand, John took a glance around what he could see of the house before he felt the old woman pulling at his arm again, steering him elsewhere. "We'll have to get you cleaned- you're positively filthy. And fed too, I can tell you haven't had yourself a proper meal. Don't worry- you'll be looking as bright and clean as Greg soon enough. I'm Mrs. Hudson, by the by. I'll only be doing this once for you, you know- I'm not your housekeeper, I'm theirs." She said. John followed along as she moved him up the stairs, tutting about something or other as he looked back, brows furrowing as he looked back at Sherlock for a moment before he focused on the hallways around, portraits of people he didn't know and paintings of places he'd never been hanging up on the walls, vases and flowers and tables all around, decorator's galore. Though his eyes definitely widened with the sight of the bathroom, blinking in surprise at the large room. It was pure white, marble floors, the sink looking about the size of a tub, and the tub the size of a swimming pool. Mrs. Hudson let go of his arm, moving about quickly and putting towels and a change of simple clothes into John's arms. "I'll leave you be now. Call for me when you're done." She gave him a smile that would have seemed softer without her teeth, John offering a strained one back.

 

He began to change out from the tattered clothes he wore a minutes or so after the door closed. The one thing he definitely didn't like about the bathroom, or at least at the current moment, was the mirror. John wished it were smaller, so he wouldn't have a full view of the skin that was revealed when he stripped out from the dirtied shirt. Lashes striped his back, overlapping one another to mar what skin was left there. Insubordination was something that wasn't very much appreciated within the trafficking, it seemed. Trying hard not to notice the way the marks streaked around the sides of his ribs and around his shoulders, John slipped into the tub that Mrs. Hudson had already made, letting out a hum at the feeling of being able to clean himself for the first time in what felt like years. Well, actually, it had been years.

 

Sherlock watched John leave, turning to face Greg. "Make sure he doesn't try to run. The Adler’s had their eyes on him and Irene seemed to purr at the thought of him." The butler grinned, and turned to Mycroft. His gaze softened even more, walking forward and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Mycroft looked like he would have been blushing, and Sherlock smirked. His brother’s goldfish.

 

Sherlock thought back to when Mycroft had gotten Greg. Sherlock had been just on forty five years, while Mycroft was already over two hundred by then. Greg had come home, dull eyed and sad, and Mycroft looked sad too.

_"Why brother, did you choose someone so pitiful?" Sherlock asked, and Mycroft’s eyes flashed._

_"He reminds me of a man I knew," Mycroft retorted._

 

So Greg had joined the Holmes'. When Sherlock bossed him too loudly Greg flinched, and Mycroft told him off. Sherlock began to be kinder, these things had feelings too. And with the whole attitude of the house hold changing, so did Greg. After five years, Greg did whatever he pleased, sweeping the floors every so often. But whenever a vampire coven came around, the mask went on. The Holmes' were royalty after all. They couldn't be seen being _kind_ to their slaves.

Greg put on his number ones and the whole Holmes clan became icy towards him, bossing him around like the slave he supposedly was. It took a lot of self control for Sherlock to not laugh. Greg was a git sometimes. All the other helpers they had in their house, humans taken out of terrible slavery acts, were treated with respect, but it seemed Mycroft had a soft spot for the silver haired butler. So they shared hidden touches and little kisses every once and a while, but Mycroft couldn't let himself grow too close. Human and vampire couples always ended in one way. The human died. Whether it be of old age, accidentally broken in a heated fight or being turned, the human died, and the Holmes' were quite adverse to the idea. They liked their humans, but they couldn't share in royalty.

 

Greg cleared his throat and Sherlock blinked back into reality. "Don't get too gooey eyed this early in the game Sherly," he teased, and Sherlock scoffed.

"Don't be absurd, John isn't something to become gooey eyed over."

Greg rolled his eyes, but his expression straightened out. "I'll explain everything to him when I get the chance," he said with a determined tone, stepping away from his main master. The two red dots on his neck flashed as he turned. "I'll go help Mrs. H," he called, running from the room with a laugh.

Mycroft’s gaze settled on Sherlock. "You made a good choice brother," he said, posture impeccable. "He seems to have soul."

Sherlock nodded. "Let us hope he does. I don't like being let down."

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo second chapter!! Enjoy lovelies and kudos if you do!!!!

Once John had finished with his bath, he reluctantly got out of the rather murky water, feeling quite clean. His scars itched from the use of soap, though he didn't dare scratch at them in fear that they would reopen and bleed. He didn't want to bleed, of all things, in a house full of vampires. Sighing, John managed to get himself into the white, downy shirt that had been provided, rolling up the sleeves until they were at his elbows before pulling on the pants, looking over the cleanliness of the clothes and feeling extremely out of place. No matter how nice this was, it was still a prison. No matter how nice these people were, they were still wards. It didn't matter; not really. Raking a hand through his damp hair, John leaned over the sink. Now that the dirt was grime was gone, he looked even more tired, the bags under his eyes prominent as the ribs that were poking out slightly from the shirt. Trying to flatten it down some, John became rather defeated, instead keeping it as it was before heading out of the bathroom.

 

Mrs. Hudson was waiting there, of course, already beginning to look over John carefully with cold hands that seemed somehow warmer with the tenderness of her touch. Had she been a mother before she had been turned? Possibly. "Now we can see that lovely face." She cooed, taking Johns arm again and leading him down the hall once again. "Oh, you'll love it here, dear. It's not so bad once you really get used to it. I'm sure Sherlock'll be kind to you- he's a bit rough around the edges, but he warms up to you after a while." John didn't want to say anything against her, really, considering she was being so kind, but couldn't help but grimace at the thought that he would get used to this. How could he get used to slavery? John hadn't been used to it when he was in trafficking, and he certainly wouldn't be now.

 

Mrs. Hudson twittered on about something else, he wasn't sure; mainly, he was paying attention to the things around, looking to the numerous rooms and wondering what they held, what they were for. He didn't ask; didn't feel like talking, really.

 

Sherlock glided through the house, as silent as a shadow. He was feeling peckish, but it wasn't insistent yet. He quickly found the music room, which was furnished with blues and purples. It was Sherlock's favorite room, and he purred as he ran a cold finger down the open lid of the grand piano. He pressed the top key, listening with a small smile as it echoed slightly around the beautiful acoustics in the room. Sherlock wandered to the corner of the room, where a beautiful violin was sitting. Sherlock looked at it tenderly. A memento of a past life, where he was a virtuoso with the instrument. Now, with many _many_ years of practice, he was almost perfect with it. He had to be careful with it though. If he got too enthusiastic he might break it.

He picked it up, swinging it around to the correct position, and placing his bow on the strings. He grinned, shutting his eyes and beginning to play 'The Last Rose of Summer'. He had memorized it, seeing as it was around summer when he was turned and lost his whole life.

 

Greg skipped through the corridors, using secret passage ways and pausing when he went past the music room for a second to grin at Sherlock's playing. It was common for the young lord to go up and play when feeling a little hungry. He seemed to do it subconsciously. He'd have to let John know about a slave’s second job. Snacks. Greg made a face. That was always a hard conversation. Greg moved on, popping out from behind a gold framed picture of a Holmes ancestor. He was probably alive somewhere else in Europe. The Holmes family had vampires with them cracking seven hundred soon.

He almost ran into their new guest, being dragged around with a slightly bored expression. "Think of the devil!" Greg greeted, shutting the frame doorway.

"Can I steal him Mrs. H?" he asked, leaning against the wall.

"Oh! Of course dear." The vampire smiled her creepy nice smile, and wandered away after a small hug for John.

Greg smiled, standing up straight. "Ready for a briefing?" he asked, expression becoming slightly more flat so it wasn't as happy. This was a serious situation after all.

 

John was rather glad to be in the presence of another human, though the conversation ahead was not something he was necessarily looking forwards to. Rubbing his arm, John looked back to Mrs. Hudson before letting out a heavy breath through his nostrils, looking back to Greg.

"If by 'brief' you mean just telling me that I'll be a walking feeding bag for _him_ , then sure, I'm ready for the brief." He wasn't dull-eyed and sad- no, he was more dull-eyed and angry. Because he _wasn't_ supposed to be here; he was supposed to be helping people, saving people. Not _here_ , to be some vampires little lapdog.

 

John, after the vampires had taken over, had managed to get keep out of the areas where they slowly infested, keeping to the roads, following where the emergency station instructed. The refugee camps were slowly being put up by the government to ensure safety, to ensure survival. Hidden locations underground where they were positive the vampires couldn't get to. John had managed to find one in Yorkshire. His military experience had made him a valuable asset enough, planning out scouting routines to scrounge for food on the surface, keeping everyone quiet when the bloodsuckers prowled the surface. It was a hard life, eating off scraps -the women and children came first, they were the priority, not the men- and seeing some to no sunlight, but he supposed it had prepared him for trafficking.

 

It had happened far too quickly. The ambush. John had been within the small room where they set up their plans, kept maps and radios to communicate with the different safe houses around when he heard gunfire and screaming. They'd figured out their location; they'd figured it out, and John, nor anyone, had even known. At first, it seemed as though they were just there to kill, ripping out throats and tearing off heads. But then he'd seen them dragging people off into trucks. They had been dragging men and women and children into those trucks. _Children_. John could barely imagine how the trafficking would go for a child. He'd fought his way through, firing and shooting and killing, before he'd been slammed down, head hitting the ground and- unconsciousness. The next thing he knew, he was being thrown in a pen with at least sixteen other people all crowded in there.

 

No, John wasn't supposed to be _here_.

 

Greg grit his teeth. "Yes." He squared his shoulders, and put a hand on John’s shoulder. "Sherlock doesn't eat much. He tries not to be run by instinct, but he also doesn't like dying, at least, he doesn't want to die again."

Greg looked even closer at John, and suddenly he imagined with less scratches. Younger, more alive. His eyes widened.

"John Watson!" He yelled, realizing. "When you were with the crowd, you were the boss!" His eyes sparkled. "Was my wife still alive when you were taken?" Greg didn’t have high hopes, but Greg definitely recognized him. He had told his wife to stay with him. Even though he hadn’t known him, Greg had trusted him. "Her name was Chloe. Did you know her? Was she still alive?"

 

John blinked with surprise, and felt a stone drop into his stomach. Oh. "I...." He could easily lie here. He didn't have to tell the truth- Greg would probably never know any different. But....no, he couldn't. He couldn't do that. Sucking in a breath, John grabbed Greg's bicep, grip tightening before loosening once again. "I'm....I'm sorry. She- no....she didn't." He'd seen it- bodies lying on the ground, blood pooling around their heads from the rips in their throats. He'd memorized every single face- of course she had to be there. Of course he would meet her husband. Of course he would have to explain this. He didn't meet Greg's gaze, instead staring at the floor.

 

Greg paled. "Yeah." His darling Chloe. And he hadn’t even been able to say goodbye. His eyes pricked uncomfortably. "Yeah, yeah of course." He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in through his nose. He cleared his throat roughly. He shuddered, and regained himself. He could break down later. Now he was working. "Sherlock’s in the music room if you want to somehow broach the subject." Greg turned away, pulling his arm away from Johns grip. "He'll try to be as kind as possible I swear. He's fed from me before." Greg sniffed brashly. "Do you need to be shown where to go or has Mrs. Hudson already given the tour?"

 

John felt his expression fall considerably, letting his arm fall back to his side as Greg pulled away. He felt sorry- god, he did, but he couldn't do anything about it. She had died, and so many others had along with her. It was something that had happened, and John -although he wished he had the ability- wasn't able to do anything about it at all. "She's given me the tour, don't worry." He offered a strained smile, putting a hand on Greg's shoulder, trying to look sympathetic somehow, though he couldn't relate with the situation. He'd never loved someone like that- not really. Mary had been someone he could rely on, and he'd shared several nights with her, but that was it. She hadn't died, as far as he knew; she'd been loaded onto the trucks as well, separated during the second auction.

 

Moving away from Greg, John moved down the hall, looking back at the man for a moment before turning away fully. He wondered who many others that had died had people waiting for them, hoping they were alive. Would John have to explain it to some of them too? That their loved ones -friends, family, children, wives, husbands, partners- had been brutally murdered in the mass genocide that John had had to witness? He hoped not- he so hoped he wouldn't have to see their eyes waver with tears, throats bobbing as they processed the information as Greg had. Sighing, John ran a hand through his hair, turning around the corner, his sharp memory helping him through. He'd had to enhance his senses during the years hiding, within trafficking. He needed to hear every footstep, every breath and every word and everything. He didn't need to hear the whimpers and screams that came within the night when one of the auctioneers were feeling the need to feed, but he supposed that couldn't have been avoided. Well, it could have- if the damn bloodsuckers hadn't taken over the entire bloody world. Or was it just England? John wasn't sure.

 

Looking into a door that was half open, John pushed it open further, looking into the room. He could feel his stomach lurching with nausea from hunger, though tried not to mind it. He could last a while longer without food. He was fine. "...Sherlock?" He questioned, raising a brow at the sound of the music. It had been some time since he'd heard that; the humans within the auctions and trucks sometimes sang scratchy songs that they remembered from the Older Days -how sad was it that a time from freedom had been known as 'Older'?- singing them in the truck as others joined along. It wasn't really to lighten the mood, but more so to keep the silence away. The silence was a horrible thing to have in such harsh conditions.

 

Greg, as soon as John was out if sight, let out a broken sob. He slid down the wall, head in his hands. Mycroft was one thing, but Chloe had been the love of his life.

 

Sherlock finished the bar, looking up and swinging the violin around and looking at John. He looked slightly sad. "How can I help you?" He asked, moving like a shadow to put his violin on the stand.

 

John shuffled in his spot, clearing his throat a bit. "I want to talk about....." God, he couldn't even say it. "....feeding." The word came out rather strained, as if it was forced out from John's throat. Which, really- it was. John wasn't something to be fed off of. He was a person; not a thing for some parasite to go ahead and latch onto to drain him. But he needed to talk about it. Needed to know what the deal with that was, really. He didn't want to be fed off of, didn't want to be drunk from. It was something that was honestly unnerving to him- even Greg had seemed stiff talking about it.

 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Talk about feeding?" His baritone rumbled. He smirked. "Greg sent you I assume." Sherlock nodded at the twitch, which answered his question. The vampire rolled his eyes. John looked extremely uncomfortable. "Look," Sherlock said, leaning his weight on one foot. "If the idea disturbs you so much I'm sure Greg will be happy to take your place."

 

John felt guilt trip him up a bit. He wouldn't pass off the duty to the poor man- he wasn't sure if he could handle some vampire chomping into his neck after something like that. Besides- John had failed to save his wife, for god’s sake. The least he could do was take on this duty. "No- I can do it. It's fine." He said with a stiff nod.

 

Sherlock’s lips thinned for a moment at that. "Alright. Come closer," he purred, but dismissed the teasing gesture with a rare grin. "I promise I won't take much. I don't think it would be a pleasant duty." Sherlock huffed again, stepping forward. "Come on, I won't bite," he chuckled.

 

John hesitated greatly before moving forwards, stopping in front of the vampire and looking him over carefully. Great- now he was starting his time as Sherlock’s own personal feeding bag. It wasn't something that he was feeling up to, but Greg deserved this much. His mouth twitched barely at the teasing.

 

Sherlock tilted his head, watching the man with what eyes were once silvery blue. He continued surveying; tilting Johns chin up with a finger. He could hear it. That heart beat. Right in his ears. For his to take. He leaned down, caressing the top of Johns head with a soft hand as he grazed his teeth over the neck. He breathed in deeply.

"Delectable," he growled, using his other free hand to hold Johns arms as he pierced the flesh with his now very sharp canines. He brought the heavenly taste into his mouth twice, suppressing a moan. Blood should never taste this good. He wanted to take more, but he forced himself to stay still, absolutely frozen apart from the slow movements he was making with his throat. He pulled back, releasing his tight grip, and licked the punctures twice, sealing them. Sherlock pulled back, wiping his now blood red lips with a look of disdain. He sighed, pulling his hand from John’s hair. To Sherlock, feeding with a live subject had to be more sensual and kind than just tearing and ripping like an animal. "I apologize," the vampire said with a strained voice, not liking the fact that John had paled a few shades. "I will take you down to the kitchen if you so wish." He offered, still not in a good mood even though his body was purring.

 

The growls had been the most unnerving, if John were being honest. Being called 'delectable' was a bit more than creepy, but John kept stiff and still, letting out a whimper at the feeling of the fangs piercing through his flesh. Every instinct in him kicked at John to push and shove the damn creature away, but he didn't, simply remaining where he was. Perhaps not eating hadn't been the best decision, considering his head and vision were swimming by the time Sherlock was done. He was nearly glad for that- at least he didn't have to really feel the vampires tongue on his neck. Wavering slightly, John took a step back, one hand coming to rub at his neck as he shook his head. "I'm fine," He growled out, not feeling the need to be taken care of. He could manage just fine on his own.

 

Moving forwards slowly, almost carefully, a sudden blackness crept around his vision, mind seeming to cut off all other commands down to his legs as he stumbled forwards, hand catching onto the side of the piano. Sherlock hadn't taken too much blood, but John hadn't eaten, and had gotten a good lashing the day before. He'd lost blood, and he was simply losing more. His body had become too exhausted to try and recover, seeing as how its efforts usually went to waste after several days, or even simply several hours.

 

Sherlock sighed, moving forward. "I'll take you to see Mrs. Hudson. I shouldn't have fed off of you. I knew I shouldn't have," he said quietly, wrapping a cold arm around John’s waist to pull him up straight. "And don't even try to say you are alright, because I know you're not." He smirked. "Do you want me to carry you and save us some trouble?"

 

Alright- maybe he wasn't totally fine. "I can walk...." He grumbled out, though as he looked down at his own unsteady legs he knew that he would fade rather great embarrassment by falling over again, even with Sherlock’s arm there around him. Huffing and puffing again, John looked back up to the vampire with a glare before nodding. ".......yes." He finally managed out.

 

Sherlock smirked. Quickly he put one arm behind John’s knees, bringing him up into his arms with ease. His body was warm against his chest, and Sherlock’s arms were vices as he slowly began his way to the kitchen. He didn’t want John to fall out after all. As they made their way through the manor, Sherlock felt the incredible urge to throw John over one shoulder, though he hid it behind a silent chuckle.

 

Mrs. Hudson was cooking dinner for the servants when Sherlock walked in with John in his arms. She raised an eyebrow, tittering slightly as she noticed the puncture wounds in the human’s neck.

"Are you stupid Sherlock Holmes?" She asked sharply, taking John from his arms and sitting him on the bench like he was no more than a child. Her hands ghosted over his body, frowning. "I'll make you some tea dear," she told him, "and serve you up some soup. But only this once, I'm not your housekeeper, I'm theirs." She began to make her way around the kitchen, murmuring to herself and casting angry glances at The Lord, who had balanced himself of the doorframe with a neutral expression.

 

John felt incredibly strange like this- being treated like something close to a child, being carried and set down on benches. He was a bit too dizzy to mind though, the walk making him a bit nauseous. Leaning forwards heavily, John placed a hand over his eyes, supporting his head as he brought his palm up towards his forehead. Honestly, he wasn't sure he was sick from the actual blood loss, or from the fact that he'd just given his blood over to a vampire. He looked back at Sherlock once, expression holding.....nothing, really. Something closer to exhaustion than anger, really. He just needed food, and then sleep. God- he could only imagine not being stuck in a pen for sleep. How would it feel on a real bed again? How would it feel not to sleep on other bodies, on the dirt? Even John could barely imagine that. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," He called over hoarsely, deciding that, though her smile was a bit unnerving, he did like her quite a lot.

 

"It's alright dear," the vampire replied with a small smile.

Sherlock watched with a small amount of interest. He supposed he would have to take the human to the servant’s quarters, where all the others slept. It wasn’t like they had a smaller amount of comfort than the vampires, it's just they had a group of rooms on the other side of the house, away from prying eyes. "I didn’t think he was sick," Sherlock said flatly, knowing that though she hadn’t asked, she wanted an explanation.

Her deep red eyes snapped to him, and she stalked towards him. Sherlock’s tall demeanor dropped slightly, and it must have been amusing to watch, the tall vampire cowering to an old lady.

"No," she growled, "you didn’t think."

Sherlock scoffed, though it was half hearted.

 

John watched the exchange carefully, making the mental note to stay close to Mrs. Hudson- it seemed she was about the only thing in the house that Sherlock seemed afraid of. For god’s sake, he was cowering in front of her! Seeming pleased for a moment, John settled on the bench a bit, trying to somehow alleviate for the headache was currently attacking his frontal lobe just as a younger woman scurried into the room. She was a bit mousy looking, small and a bit nervous, but definitely human. How many did they have, John wondered? Lifting his head to look her over for a moment, she didn't seem to notice him for the moment, instead looking to Sherlock. The infatuation was easy enough to see, though John felt a bit repulsed by it; they were meant to be beautiful in order to lure prey- how could anyone find that attractive in any way?

 

"Master Sherlock," She puffed, seeming out of breath for some reason or another, looking as though she had just run through the entire house. "I saw...." She was catching her breath a bit, putting a hand on her chest before she managed an actual sentence. "I saw one of the Adler’s- coming this way." She informed with a nod, hands clasped in front of her. John raised a brow, frowning. Adler’s? Who were they?

 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Irene?" He asked flippantly, and Molly shook her head. "Her brother. He seemed annoyed."

A deep growl echoed through Sherlock’s chest. Alexander was trouble. Sherlock bent down and kissed Molly on the cheek, a small murmured "Thank you," into her ear, and she blushed furiously.

"It was no trouble my Lord. Should I go prepare the others?" Her shining eyes flicked to John for a split second, before focusing back on the talk vampire. He nodded.

"Be quick about it," he ordered softly, and the little human took off.

Sherlock turned to Mrs. Hudson, frowning at John slightly.

"Keep him in here, he's too weak to play," he said in a kind tone, and the other vampire nodded.

"Yes my Lord," she replied. Sherlock’s eyes focused on John.

"Where is Gregory? You were with him last, and I need to speak with him," Sherlock’s tone was kind but demanding. He was no longer the young lord that cowered at old women and kissed servants on the cheek. He was royalty.

 

John tensed. Greg......Jesus....."Leave him alone for once, would you?" John growled, feeling his head pounding further. He didn't care if Sherlock was the damn Queen of England- John knew that the poor man needed his time to grieve. He'd just been told his wife had been killed, he deserved as much. Besides, John barely cared for the tone. He'd heard commands that were much sterner than that before, snaps and yells and shrieks that barely made him even stutter. One high-and-mighty vampire wasn't going to suddenly boss him around.

 

Sherlock hissed slightly. "Where is Greg? I need to speak with him. Alexander Adler is dangerous, and we need our head butler." His tone had become almost dangerous as he stepped forward. Of course, he didn’t know of his friends loss, and Greg would be most suited when it came to dealing with the Adler. As Sherlock stepped into John’s personal space, not even Mrs. Hudson dare interrupt. "Where is he?"

 

John stood his ground, narrowing his eyes as his temper boiled over. He stood as Sherlock entered his space, wavering slightly, but otherwise remaining firm. "Crying about his dead _wife_ , you bastard!" He snapped, rage easily seeping through. How dare Sherlock think he could simply hiss at John and expect him to suddenly snap and tell- no, how dare he think that he could just pull Greg right out from something so awful to do some bloody job! "Slaughtered and killed like the rest of them! By _your_ kind!" John’s voice hadn't raised at all, keeping to his own whispered hiss as his eyes became aflame with fury. "You give that man the space he needs to grieve, or I'll take the nearest piece of wood and stick it in your chest."

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahahaha update woo (sorry this was late coming I was at my nana's)
> 
> ...I should be studying but school makes me want to cry so let's do this instead :)
> 
> ENJOY XX

Sherlock was stumped. "His wife is _dead_?" He stated stupidly. He frowned. Oh shit. Shaking himself, Sherlock’s icy demeanor was in place. "I am nothing like the others. So hold your tongue," his breathing was slightly rougher. "So please, if you would be so kind as to stay here and  _not make a noise,_  I'll be busy protecting you from one of your biggest threats, that which would eat your flesh whilst you scream for mercy." He spat into the human’s face.

 

Sherlock whisked out of the room, Mrs. Hudson whispering under her breath, "Wrong thing to accuse, he didn't know. Poor Sherlock."

 

Greg was sitting in the bathroom, staring at his rugged expression. He would have to tell Mycroft. Greg sniffed roughly, sitting down on the cold tiles and staring at the blank wall.

 

Sherlock had a pleasant smile in place when Mike opened the front door. The vampire’s hands were held politely behind his back, and he stepped forward, eyes sharp.

"How can I help you Alexander?" He said in a strained tone, though it was disguised effectively.

The pale vampire with the face exactly like his sisters but more masculine, smiled. "My Lord, Irene told me about you're new pet. Mind if I come inside and see him love?" His tone was dripping with adoration, and he stepped closer.

Sherlock smiled, stepping forward and pressing a soft kiss to the shorter mans lips. "He's just sleeping. I don't want him up and working until he can do it effectively," he pressed another one to Alex's lips. It was an old habit, their lips always fit perfectly even though their fling had ended ten years ago.

Alex hissed, putting his hands in Sherlock’s hair and growling into his sharpened teeth. "Pleeeeaase," he whined, tugging their bodies closer together.

"No," Sherlock snapped, pushing away, and Alexander swore. "Go home Alex."

A dark perfect eyebrow rose. "You're hiding him? Is he delectable?" The vampire purred.

"Yes," Sherlock replied tersely to his ex-lover. "Now go home."

"What about Greg? Is he around to play?" Alex asked, stepping forward.

Sherlock gave a fake smile, stepping through the doorway and shutting it in the other mans face. He turned away, nodding to Mike. "Keep an eye on him. He always liked playing with my toys," he explained with an annoyed tone. Alex was greedy, and that's why it had ended. Sherlock brushed up the stairs, and going to the music room. If he went and found John now, he might likely ring his neck.

 

"Poor _Sherlock_?" John scoffed, trembling as he settled down back onto the bench, gripping the side of the table as his energy was spent on growling away the vampire. Not like the others? Please- all of these bloodsuckers were like one another. They all were murderers- they all killed people. And apparently, they all didn't seem to have the sense to think that the humans they owned had lives before the war. How many people here had families? Husbands and wives? Children? And did the Holmes even think to consider this?

 

Mycroft had watched the small affair, canting a brow at the absence of their butler and looking about carefully. Of course he didn't know- how could he know? Even with his all seeing eye, there were a few things that escaped him after all, especially things that had happened so recently. Sweeping upstairs, the elder Holmes followed the scent of which he knew well by now, the trail leading him through the halls and around several corridors before he came to the restroom. Pausing for a moment, Mycroft nearly wrinkled his nose at the thought of Gregory simply defecating in the bathroom, though his sharp ears quickly caught the sound of sniffles. Carefully pushing the door open, his concern was immediate once he saw the man sitting on the floor, sniffling with bloodshot eyes that looked considerably wet. "Gregory?" He called in a soft tone that seemed near to foreign for him, moving forwards silently. He came to crouch slightly in front of the human, hesitating before touching his cheek with a cold, but rather gentle, hand. "What is wrong? What has happened?"

 

Greg flinched at first, but tilted his head into the cold touch for a millisecond before pulling away. He rolled over, eyes not seeing the plain pale tiles that pressed into his cheek.

"Chloe is dead," he said flatly, voice void of any emotion.  He was numb, there was nothing. "John just told me." He blinked, and a small noise escaped his voice. "Chloe's dead. Gone. My girl." His face crumpled once more as he began to sob. "Gone," he said, shoulders shaking violently.

 

Mrs. Hudson's eyes flashed as she turned to John. Her expression was still kind, but her tongue was sharp.

"Your misconception John," she said, taking a small step towards him, "is that we want to be here." She smiled, calming down a little. "Sherlock and Mycroft have lost more than most, and they care. They don't want any if these people to actually be here, they don't want to be monsters. Neither do the rest of us. We all remember what it was like to be human." She took a small breath. "Why do you think they're the only vampires in this household apart from me? Those two Holmes brothers are an anomaly in this royal family, a liability. So their secret is kept by their family as long as they keep up an act." The vampire sat slowly onto a chair. "Poor Gregory," she added slowly, red eyes sad.

 

Sherlock was standing on the balcony, looking over the manor grounds. He probably should go and find their head butler, but though Sherlock hadn’t felt grief for a long time, he knew that sometimes people were better left alone. He sat down cross legged on the floor, staring and seeing nothing. It wasn’t often he was able to do this.

 

Mycroft pulled his hand away, completely unsure of what to do with the situation. He wasn't good with this- with comforting, with emotions in general. It was something that seemed to be an inherited trait with the Holmes' lineage. He didn't know who Chloe was -perhaps a lover, perhaps a daughter, perhaps someone entirely different- though supposed they had to be rather dear to Gregory to have him crumpled on the ground in such a way. "It's… alright." Mycroft tried, laying a hand on the humans shoulder softly, a feather-light touch before the vampire let out a small sigh, more like a puffed breath before he carefully, if not a bit awkwardly, took Gregory's head in hand as he sat properly, placing it in his lap and letting his hand remain on the silvery hair, unsure of whether to simply keep it there or stroke his head, or card his fingers through his hair. "It's fine... it will be fine..." He had never been good at comforting, but he would try for this at least.

 

John looked up to Mrs. Hudson for a moment before looking back down to the table, eyes narrowing as he put a hand on his forehead. He didn't say anything, keeping all of his boiling thoughts to himself. Oh yes- wasn't it so awful that the Holmes had to play pretend, live in luxury while they did it? With humans calling them 'Lord' and 'Master'- it must have been so awfully horrible for them. His hand clenched a fistful of his hair as John's anger began to tip over. How awful it was to live as a vampire, apparently- surrounded by a giant manor, being fed for by others, with money and wealth. Did these creatures even think before they spoke? Swallowing thickly, John stood shakily, trying to shake off his headache as he moved out from the kitchen, not feeling all too hungry anymore, although his stomach still protested, seeming to make the skin pull over his ribs further in ache. But the bitterness had made him lose his appetite.

 

Moving through the halls, John's legs gave out in some random hallway -he hadn't been paying attention at all, too engulfed with his own angry thoughts. Sighing, John barely even tried to pick himself up before he managed to push himself up against the wall, arms tucked around his stomach as his knees moved inwards, head dipping towards his chest. His neck ached, though John barely minded it, instead focusing on sleep. Yes, sleep was good. There, he didn't have to deal with vampires having their own little pity party, didn't have to deal with people crying over others deaths. It didn't matter if he was on the bed or on the ground- he'd learned not to be too picky with sleeping places, in all honesty. The floor was as good as any bed, though it felt empty without so many others around him.

 

Mrs. Hudson narrowed her eyes at the retreating back of John. Stubborn. She would probably have to go find him later, seeing as he was too weak to find his way back. The vampire meandered off, picking up her duster and beginning to dust around the house.

 

Greg shuddered violently. Mycroft was trying, he really was, and the butler settled his head more into the cold lap. He sobbed and cried and turned to bury his face in the vampire’s probably very expensive shirt.

He dragged his whole body into the cold lap, his face now in the crook of his neck, sobs now gone and a depressed silence left in their wake. Greg just sat there, arms around the vampire in a desperate attempt to not feel the pain that tugged and pulled at his chest, begging him to collapse and drag him into the ground.

 

Sherlock stared until the sun began setting. He stood then. He loathed sunsets. He had been watching the sunset when Mycroft had chosen him to be an heir to royalty.

Sherlock huffed and turned. Caring was not an advantage.

He walked out through the room, and paused as he entered the corridor. Why was John sitting on the floor? Sherlock raised an eyebrow, trying to decide if he was still angry at the human. No, he wasn’t.

Sherlock bent down, pulling the dreaming human into his arms, floating silently to his own room, placing the human on his never used bed. It was only one night, and then he could go to the servant’s quarters. Sherlock sat on the couch across from the bed. What was it like to sleep? Sherlock found it hard to remember, though he could imagine if he watched John. It would be peaceful, Sherlock guessed, and quiet. And so Sherlock fell into a trance, staring at the rise and fall of his personal stubborn-as-hell servant.

 

Mycroft hushed the man quietly until he was silent, now deciding the stroke the back of his head gently as he cradled it carefully against his neck. He didn't say anything- didn't know what to say, really. What could one say in this situation? "Would you... like to talk about it?" He questioned, feeling quite ashamed at how horrible he was doing this whole comforting thing. Was it good enough for Gregory? Wait- no, he couldn't really be thinking like that. He shouldn't have even been here, really- this was only furthering the bond he had with the man. He couldn't....feel these types of things for a human. Especially not the human who was supposed to be his servant, after all.

 

John barely minded the switch between the floor and the rather cold bed, instead laying on his side. Dreams weren't something that were good- not at all. Dreams brought thoughts, and thoughts -if not controlled and repressed properly- brought awful sort of memories. John had managed to train himself to keep quiet when this happened, the auctioneers wanting silence during the time the humans were supposed to sleep. They didn't need cranky humans for the auctions, after all. But it didn't help anyway- they still came around, still taunted and haunted his memory. John twitched as a memory suddenly erupted, brows furrowing as his slow breathing picked up just slightly.

 

_"-We'll plan the attack here." Anderson noted, pointing to the marked red spot on the map._

_John raised a brow, shaking his head. "Attack? We can't attack- they're stronger, you know that. Especially in those parts, with their whole.....livestock keeping them up and going." The last part was near to hissed, a few of the men crowded around the map flinching slightly at the thought. It was still hard to imagine that people were being kept as animals after all. "We just need to scout. Provisions are running low. The last area we found proper food was around... here." John put his finger down on the blue marked spot on the map, Anderson letting out a huff as others nodded to each other in confirmation of the plan that they did agree to. John opened his mouth open to speak again, though a sudden rumble sent the dim lights flickering in the rooms. Everything seemed to freeze in that moment- every breath paused, eyes darting around the ceiling before snapping onto the door that led to the main bunker. John waited for a moment before looking to the others. "I'm sure-"_

_A scream._

_And then it began._

_Roars and growls, hisses and shrieks and cries for help erupted beyond the metal door, and immediately John was out in the open, bloodshed and gore all around. His eyes wandered around the lifeless bodies around, mouths open in their silent pleas for mercy, eyes glazed with death, bodies twisted at odd angles as blood flooded out from their necks and arms and sides, wherever there were bite marks, fangs torn through flesh. The smell of it was awful, filling John's senses, though he resisted the urge to gag. Raising his gun, John aimed and fired, a bullet implanting in a vampires skull as it dropped to the ground. Perhaps they could survive one to the chest, but not to the head. Guns firing all around, John didn't even know how many vampires they got down before they began to attack those with weapons._

 

John curled in further, breathes shaking as his eyes darted around beyond the shield of his eyelids. His finger twitched, curling as he fired, over and over and over again.

 

_Teeth grit as blood splattered onto his face, John let his bullets fly, each shot precise, no shot wasted. He couldn't afford to waste a single shot. He could still hear the screams, mixing with the gunfire. A hiss echoed in his ear, John turning too late as hands dug into his shoulder, pinning him to the ground. John struggled, thrashing as the vampire dug his teeth into his shoulder, the fangs ripping through the flesh._

 

Here, John jerked, mouth forming into a thin line as the scars on his back seemed to burn, waves of agony flowing out from the injured shoulder where far too many nerves had been damaged.

 

_His fist collided with the vampires jaw, breaking him off. An aggravated growl came out from the vampire’s mouth, raising his hand and quickly smacking it across Johns head, oblivion catching the man as he went limp beneath the beast._

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late update but here we go!!!   
> ENJOY XX

Greg sniffed, sitting up and looking into the blood red eyes. He sat for a long while, just looking at the vampires pale face. He sighed after a while, shrugging. "She was the love of my life," voice void once more. "John said she was killed when he was taken. Apparently there was a massacre." His bottom lip trembled and he felt very small. "I hope she died quickly and not-" he cut off, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes of the tears, "and not drained slowly or anything." His voice was gravelly, and was trying very hard not to break down. "I didn't get to say goodbye," he whispered, tears now flowing from his eyes and dripping off his chin. He moved his hands from Mycroft, dropping his face into them. His shoulders shook slowly. How could he cry any more? He felt like there were no tears left, but no, they were there, pooling in his hands as he leant into Mycroft again.

 

Sherlock blinked, watching as John began twitching just past midnight. John was whispering nothing, and his eyes were moving rapidly underneath his eye lids. Sherlock stood, not sure what to do. It was obviously a nightmare, and he didn’t know how to deal with people experiencing nightmares.

He stepped silently to the side of bed, sharp ears now catching the hushed words.

"No, die, can't die, they die," John was hissing. "Don't touch them," he muttered more desperately. Oh, Sherlock thought, a memory then. He put a hand out, frowning, and placed it on John’s hair. He would not be appreciative of the gesture, Sherlock was almost sure, but he couldn't let the human stay lost in the dream world when it was so stressful for him. "John," his baritone rumbled. "Wake up."

 

Mycroft let himself give a small sigh before wrapping his arms hesitantly around the other, holding him close, though loosely. He feared that if he ever pulled too tight, prodded too hard, kissed too passionately, he would bring harm to Gregory, who, in comparison to himself, was made of something close to china. "She...." The vampire wracked his brain for something appropriate, something sentimental he could say. He didn't know this woman- he could say nothing about her. The odds of her dying painfully were quite high. If what John had said was true about this 'massacre', then it would have most likely been a raid. Humans being taken out from their little hiding-holes was a common thing, and Mycroft was rather appalled to say that he had turned a blind eye to most of them, either that or actually lobbied them. Their kind needed to feed, and though the way was brutal and cruel, it was the only way people were willing to do it these days. No, the raids were harsh- the weak were killed, the strong brought along to be sold. If this Chloe had been weak, she would have most likely been left to bleed out and die- swift deaths were barely ever given. "...she is in a better place." Yes- that was good. Good enough as Mycroft could give at least.

 

John jerked to the side, blood and fangs and gore still flashing over his vision when he felt the hand on his head, all too similar to the one that had pulled at his hair to snap their teeth into his flesh. It didn't matter if the touch was gentle- it was cold, it was foreign, nearly unwelcome. Shooting up, John took in ragged breaths, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes as his vision blurred for a moment, all of John's senses kicked into high alert as he raised a hand. His mind was caught between two places; the auctions, and the bunker. Was he still there? Laying in gore and blood? Or was he awoken to be brought out, a cold hand raised to beat him awake in punishment for falling asleep. Arm quickly trying to shield him of the possible blow, John paused for a moment, sucking in a breath as he became slightly more aware to the point where he knew he wasn't in either places. His mind was such a muddle of thoughts he barely even noticed Sherlock, in all honesty, gripping the blankets beneath him and staring out into space as gunfire and shrieks rang in his ears.

 

Greg shrugged half-heartedly. "Sure," he whispered. Mycroft did not say anything about her dying quickly, and that probably meant she died slowly. He looked up to the vampire, and overcome with grief and sudden emotion, pulled himself to his lips, running one hand through Mycroft’s hair. They had never gone too far, mostly because Greg felt like he was betraying his wife. But that wasn’t the case was it? Not anymore. Greg pulled away, running a hand down the cold cheek. "I'm sorry. I'll be ready to work again tomorrow." He whispered, wiping at his eyes. He leaned his head against Mycroft’s chest, playing with the chilled fingers.

 

Sherlock pulled his hand away, perched lightly on the edge of the bed. John was panting, and Sherlock felt like it would be best if he left. He huffed, crossing his arms as he stood. Never appreciated. Always treated like a monster. But no, he had live in glamour didn't he. He wasn't even allowed to live like the monster he was. He glided across the room on shadow feet, pausing at the door to look back at his servant.

 

Mycroft carded his free hand slowly through Greg's shortly cropped hair, the warmth of the mans lips still lingering on his own as he pressed a gentle kiss onto the top of his head. "There is no need to apologize- take as much time as you need before returning to your duties." He said softly. Someone else could take up his work during the time Greg would take to grieve; Mycroft wouldn't allow his human -because Greg was his human by now- to return to quickly if he would continue in such a devastating state.

 

Running a hand though his hair, John's shoulders slumped slightly, hand giving a nervous twitch as he finally let out a breath, sucking one in, and repeating the process. Control. Control his body, control his breathing. He just needed control. But all those bodies- all those......everything. The blood and the people and the murder and the guns and the trucks- everything. John quickly rubbed at his shoulder, stomach feeling empty and chest feeling hollow and head pounding as he swiped at his eyes quickly, refusing to let tears fall. That was weakness- John couldn't afford to have weakness in these times.

 

Greg gave a small smile. "Thank you," he breathed, and he felt like that since heavy waves of emotion had stilled, he felt drained. His eyelids drooped, and his lolled back further. It was probably unprofessional to fall asleep in your employers lap, but Greg was too out of it care. He began to breathe in long breaths, and his eyes stayed shut. Sleep was good, slept meant not dealing with what had happened.

 

Sherlock went down to the kitchen, where some humans were making food for the other servants. Sherlock nodded to them, going up to one, Sebastian, and whispering in his ear. "Make some food, a small amount, and bring it to the man in my room." Sebastian nodded immediately, changing his task to do as Sherlock asked. "There is no hurry," the vampire said, and wandered out of the room. He felt like he didn’t really know what to do. He had already played his violin today. Maybe he could go shag Alex. Sherlock’s eye brow rose. That was a good idea.

 

Mycroft gave a small smile, pressing another small kiss on the mans head before bundling him up carefully against his chest, standing with ease as Greg felt lighter than a mere child, carrying him out slowly and silently, as not to jostle the man all too much. A few eyes spied on him as he moved through the halls slowly, though they looked away. It wasn't too odd of a sight, really, and most nearly everyone in the household knew about their small affair, but watching the vampire be so gentle with another being was a bit uncommon. He laid Greg on his bed, making sure he was alright and comfortable before moving out, quickly going in search of Sherlock. After hearing about his brother hiding away his own servant, the elder Holmes had to investigate the matter further. Of course he had to know about it- he had to know about everything.

 

Letting out a sigh, John nearly jumped at the sound of the door opening, calming slightly at the sight of the human coming through the door. He was a bulky sort of man, hard eyes but a slightly more kindly demeanor than his muscle suggested as he set the tray of food down on the bed next to John, eyes sweeping over him before he gave a small nod to him, John returning it with his own curt one before the man swept away. John looked down tiredly at the bowl of stew and the piece of bread, stirring the soup around a bit before actually eating. With the first sip he was nearly gobbling it down afterwards, licking the bowl clean and leaving no crumb behind. Of course he didn't realize it was Sherlock's room- how could he know? He barely even knew how he had gotten here, after deciding to curl up in the hall, though supposed this was a bit better than that. John remained on the bed, rubbing his shoulder absently and getting a bit lost within his own thoughts as he stared at the red wall beyond the comfy bed.

 

Sherlock skipped down the stairs, out of the manor. He ran quickly over the coven borders, the Adler guards ignoring him. Sherlock whisked through the forest, leaving only a trail of scent. He skidded to a stop outside the huge mansion, knocking wildly on the door. The door was opened by a small blonde woman, and Alex was already standing in the door way. He was grinning maliciously.

"Did you miss me?" He squeaked excitedly, jumping out of the doorway and into an embrace with Sherlock. God, for him, Alex’s moods changed so quickly Sherlock would have for whiplash if it were possible.

Sherlock shook his head, though he smiled at Alex's delighted expression. Alex had never seemed to have gotten over him; after all, it was The Lord who ended it with him, not the other way round, after Alex had tried to kill Greg in a fit of jealous rage. Alex was lucky to be alive, after Mycroft had found out, Sherlock’s elder brother had almost decapitated him.

"Bored," Sherlock hissed, and Alex's grinned impossibly wider.

"Come on inside then," he purred, dragging Sherlock by the coat and into his home.

 

After not finding his brother within the home, Mycroft was quick to follow the notable scent of his brother outside, getting far enough before he realized where he had gone, nearly growling in his frustration. Alexander Adler- of course he was going to him. Mycroft still had the right mind to chop off the damn creatures head after what he had done; harming his human....quite unspeakable act in itself. Prowling forwards, a quick tut caught the elder Holmes attention, bringing his eyes upwards. He had yet to enter into the Adler's own territory, so it was a bit of a surprise to see Irene lying almost lazily in a tree; seeming quite bored herself as she looked down at Mycroft with a delicately canted brow. She wasn't breaking any sort of rule, really, though the sight of her seemed to agitate Mycroft further.

"Oh.....little Sherlock's gotten you in a huff, hasn't he?" She purred- a rather common tone within her own clan, it seemed. They were far too sensual for Mycroft's honest taste.

 

"Please, keep your nose in your own business, Miss Adler." Mycroft kept his tone was diplomatic as possible, though the slightly snarl could be heard at the edge of it.

 

Irene sat up a bit, not seeming fazed by his tone at all. "How's his pet, by the way? Has he gotten bored of him yet? I would just love to have another one of my own." She looked down at the elder Holmes, who nearly sniffed at the thought of handing over one of their humans to the Adler’s. God knows what happened to the poor souls who got stuck within that household- common sex slaves were all they were, really.

 

Sherlock slammed Alex into the wall, tugging at the smaller vampires clothes. "Yessss," he hissed, grabbing and pulling and- a small voice cleared its throat and Alex looked up angrily, fury seeping into his lustful eyes.

"What?!" He roared, holding Sherlock to him. The human squeaked, hiding behind a dark fringe. "Irene had sent me to tell you elder is coming too," he whispered quietly, shaking as Alex shoved Sherlock off him to stalk towards him.

"You thought it appropriate to interrupt?" He growled, tilting his head like a predator.

The human’s eyes were as wide as saucers, and Sherlock curled his lip up at Alex's pointless act of being cruel. Punish him already.

"Idiot!" Alex shrieked, throwing the human away from him, who hit the wall heavily behind them and didn't move after he hit the ground.

Sherlock frowned as Alex came back to him, lusting demeanor back in place. "Where were we?" He purred, but Sherlock pushed him away.

"I'm not in the mood anymore," he snapped, turning away and moving towards the door.

"Sheerrloooock," the vampire whined, but he didn't dare say anymore as The Lord exited the house with a straight back. So much for a good shag. Alex was terrible, and he always forgot that.

Sherlock followed his scent trail back to the borders, crossing over and masking his face into a neutral expression as he came across his brother.

"Brother mine, what are you doing here?" He asked pleasantly, walking to Mycroft’s side and deliberately ignoring the female in the tree.

 

Mycroft looked over his brother for a moment, giving a sniff, his nostrils burning at the smell of Alexander over his clothes. "I was trying to find you." He grumbled, trying to keep his obvious anger at bay as his mouth twitched downwards once more, eyes flicking up to Irene once more, the woman looking far more like a cat than anything else as she peered down at the two.

 

"I was simply asking about your new toy," She said in a silky tone, delicate and light, though a certain lust was held within the words. The human had been stocky, strong; perfect for her. "Discussing the thought of sharing him." Mycroft narrowed his red eyes at the word 'discuss'. They had hardly had any kind of discussion- it had been her talking on about how she would be good to train the human properly, unlike the Holmes.

 

Sherlock turned a flat gaze up to her. "I've seen how your family treats your _toys_ ," he spat, standing closer to his brother as he created confrontation. "I decline anything you propose." Sherlock grit his teeth. The Adler’s were everything the two Holmes boys didn't want to be, so it was only fair they treated them like that. But the obviously had to be polite, as they were royalty, and it would be inappropriate to treat a subject unfairly. "You'll have to go and be quicker with your bidding when you see a stocky blonde, it seems," Sherlock said, shoulders squared.

 

Annoyance flashed over Irene's face before it evened out, flawless and delicate as ever. "I suppose I will," Irene gave a smile that revealed the pearly fangs which rested in her mouth comfortably. "Though I could always snatch him up as well. Though I may not be quick with money, I am quite quick in other senses. I could have him in a second if I wanted." Mycroft's mouth twitched once more, his own fangs revealing slightly. The Adler's had their own inheritance within their lineage, of course, which only seemed to help further with their own treatment towards their humans. Glamour wasn't something uncommon within vampires these days, though it wasn't something that everyone could possess. It used to be used as a simple tool to get a quick meal without struggle, making the human submissive and willing, though now it seemed to be used for rather crude purposes. How low their kind had fallen, really.

 

"Yes, I'm sure," Mycroft drawled, turning on his heel and walking swiftly back to the home, feeling unnerved with the fact that the manor was left unprotected. It wasn't as though they had enemies, but he did worry about unexpected guests and their humans. "Now, we'll be off. Come along, Sherlock."

 

Sherlock didn't even leave Irene with a parting glance. He turned in unison with his brother, matching his pace and rolling his eyes as they passed the first statue of the grounds. "I'm assuming you found Gregory," He stated, politely, not sure if the meeting would have gone smoothly or not. "How is he?" Sherlock asked quietly, sweeping the doors open. Unlike many royals, they had doormen to open every door, help them up every step, but Sherlock felt it petty, as did Mycroft.

 

Mycroft's calm demeanor seemed to hiccup slightly at that, though he quickly masked it over once more. "He is grieving." He responded with equal quiet, keeping his voice low as they entered the home once more. "I'm letting him take time off from duties." Mycroft informed with a small nod, knowing that Sherlock would have to know this. 'Duties' included other things besides simply sweeping and keeping everyone in check- it meant feeding, and tending to the Holmes. No one would touch Greg's neck during this time, something Mycroft would make sure of.

 

Sherlock nodded tersely. "Of course brother. Who will take over in the mean time?" He asked, lacing his fingers together as he paused at the bottom of the stair case. He should probably go check on John after this. Hopefully he was still in the vampire’s room. Sherlock did not like to think of himself as a scenter, but he had an amazing nose, and he would be able to sniff John down quickly if it came to it.

 

"I would think Sebastian- he is capable of managing the task for a few days." Now there was quite a strong human- impeccably strong, really. Mycroft had paid quite a high price for him, bidding against Moriarty himself. Ah- now there was someone to be fearful of. He was a household of his own, house shrouded with mystery, a veil of anonymousness that even Mycroft wasn't able to break through. The rather strange, if not incredibly sick vampire did come out to visit the royals a few times every year, though it was a rare occasion as it was. He hadn't been here in.....what? Six months? Seven? Mycroft hardly cared for time anymore- it was a simple reminder of who truly old he was.

 

Sherlock nodded. "Sounds like a good idea," he agreed, making to move up the stairs. "Now," Sherlock began, taking each step and still looking at his brother. "I'm going to go check on John. He was having a nightmare." The last sentence was said in a high pitched tone, like it was a very interesting thing to happen.

Without waiting for Mycroft to reply, Sherlock bound up the stairs, taking two at a time. He made it to his room, and the door was closed. He knocked on it quietly, hoping that John was still in there. Sherlock needed to make sure his stubborn human was fully aware of his duties, and he probably needed to be fed again.

 

Mycroft canted a brow slightly at the strange tone that came from his brother, rolling his eyes slightly before quickly heading up to his own room, settling on the bed beside Greg to pull his head slightly into his lap, enjoying the feeling of his graying hair moving through his fingers as he carded through the locks gently.

 

John had just been close to sleep again, the tray placed at the floor beside the bed, the man himself curled up on the bed, eyelids drooping until he stirred at the knock, rolling out of the bed and remaining on the floor for several minutes before getting himself to his feet, opening the door and groaning in something like misery at the sight of Sherlock standing them, rubbing at his eye blearily. "What?" He grumbled.

 

Greg mumbled nothing as he was moved. Cold hands were touching him, but they were nice hands. They weren't bad. Greg pressed his head closer to the hand, curling his knees up much like a child would, babbling little things in his sleep.

 

Sherlock grinned. "You're still alive," he said, reining the grin back in and nodding with a flat expression. He wasn’t excited that the stubborn man was still alive, of course not, why would he be. "I just was checking on you," he said, barely masking the small amount of pride in his voice. He was acting like a six year old looking after a puppy, and that would not do. "I would recommend locking the window, there is a feminine vampire after your virtue," he said, lips quirking as he leaned against the doorway.

 

John blinked groggily, processing the words slowly before putting a hand over his eyes. "All of you vampires are insane..." He grumbled, moving towards the window, fingers fumbling to close it properly before he flopped onto the bed again. "I'm checked on," He grumbled through the blankets, voice muffled. "Now lemme sleep." John really just wanted sleep now, really. It was a truly wonderful thing, in all honesty.

 

Mycroft almost chuckled at his human, giving a small smile, before kicking off his shoes and curling almost protectively around the man, wrapping his arms around him carefully and laying beside him.

 

Sherlock stepped into the room. It may have seemed a little creepy, but he wouldn't trust Irene half as far as he could throw her, which was probably quite a way. "I'll stay here," Sherlock said, shutting the door and sitting on the floor, cross legged. "Irene is stubborn, like you." Sherlock paused. "Well, maybe less than you, but only by a little." He smirked. "You can sleep, she won't get you."

 

John, who was squirming further up on the bed, let out a hum, and a heavy breath through his nose. He drifted for a moment, cracking an eye open to look at Sherlock for a moment, moving beneath the blankets. ".....thanks." His voice was once again, muffled by the pillow. He did feel the slight need to say something, especially since the vampire was taking the time to actually sit there and watch over for him. It felt slightly strange, but John really didn't feel like being taken by some other vampire -Irene, whoever she was.

 

Sherlock lay down, staring at the ceiling and counting the lines in the roof. He assumed there would be three thousand four hundred and twenty seven, but he needed to make sure.

 

Irene tilted her head as the window locked. Good. If Sherlock had made it easy for her, she would have been disappointed. She crept forward, blending in with the shadows and making sure that if any eyes were out watching the grounds she wouldn't be seen. If Sherlock had rejected Alex again like she had assumed, it was only fair she got her revenge, but taking the blonde and bringing him home and letting her and Alex share him. _It was only fair_.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for late postage of this chapter. I went to ARMAGEDDON AND MET JENNA COLEMAN AND BOUGHT THINGS AND COSPLAYED AND HAD A GREAT TIME!
> 
> Anyway...
> 
> ENJOY XX

If Mycroft had known of the intruder, he would have most certainly been up and forcing the Adler out, though he was peacefully sound as he curled against his human. John had already drifted asleep himself, snoring softly as the female vampire crept through the house. Most of the servants were getting ready for bed themselves, cleaning up and settling down for the night, all unaware of the intruder as they slept.

 

Irene purred as she walked along the edge of the house. Gripping the first ledge, she pulled herself up easily, her lithe frame laced with the strong supernatural muscles that a vampire owned. She'd have to be very careful, Sherlock might be in the room, hopefully occupied, or maybe wanting in on the fun. She made it to Sherlock’s room, having heard the window lock in the minutes she used climbing the side of the building. She peered into the window, tilting her head and putting on the glamour, sending the teasing scent for John. Her nail drew down the window, screeching.

 

Sherlock got up to two thousand and three when the noise happened. His eyes snapped over to the window, and he smelt the pheromones. Shit. He leapt up, hissing like a wet cat. He jumped onto the bed, towering over his servant. _No touching_ , his whole tone said. He didn't go anywhere near the window. He needed to stay by John.

 

John squirmed in his sleep, a small whine coming out of him as he curled up further on the bed, opening his eyes and looking to the window, seeming a bit more groggy now as he looked to the window, trying to somehow lift himself off of the bed, the feeling- well.....it wasn't so much as a feeling, but more of a need to be near the window, to be near the intoxicating smell coming from it. The sound didn't matter- the smell did. The smell.

 

Irene grinned as John wriggled, waking up. Oh yes, she hadn't done this in a while. "Come here," she sung, and much to her delight, the blonde was trying to, and Sherlock was trembling with rage.

 

He hadn't even had a proper conversation with him, and Irene was trying to steal him. Sherlock feel to his knees, holding the squirming John down by the shoulders. "Mycroft!" He bellowed, hoping his brother was aware enough to hear him. "John, get a grip," he spat, glaring at the now extremely beautiful vampire outside the window.

 

Letting out a mumble, John's pupils became dilated as he struggled within Sherlock's hold, whining and whimpering as he tried to get to the voice- he had to come closer, had to come to the window. Mycroft's ears perked at the sound, moving swiftly and making sure that Greg was alright before sweeping over towards Sherlock's room, brows raising at the sight of Sherlock and John, though his gaze heated considerably at the sight of Irene. Red eyes flaring as he moved forwards swiftly, he revealed his fangs, coming to the window. "Irene Adler-" He snapped. "Leave!"

 

Irene squawked at the sight of the furious elder Holmes. She had seen that face before, when Alex had almost killed that Silver haired cutie.

She regained herself, winking. "I'm not hurting anyone," she replied innocently, keeping the glamour on in case the blonde got free. She knew Mycroft couldn't get her through the window, and she winked.

 

Sherlock was growling in a continuous stream, only broken when he took a breath. "Piss off," he spat, getting annoyed at John for being so stupid and human.

 

"You have come onto Holmes property without permission, and was planning on stealing one of the humans we rightfully own," Mycroft hissed out, quite irritated with the Adler’s by this point. "I could easily send you away for whatever I want- I have no quarrel with you, Miss Adler, but if you continue with this course of action I will have you and your brother detained for the abuse of healthy livestock, and for the robbery of the Holmes clan." He said in a rather cool, calm way, anger flashing over his eyes once more.

 

Johns struggles continued, body willing him to follow after the melodious voice and the beautiful figure in the window, mind too foggy to resist the temptation and allure. The command still remained in mind -come here; he had to get there, had to get there- as he tried desperately to push Sherlock off somehow.

 

Irene faltered at that. "Fine," she growled, but purred when she said the next thing. "Little Blonde, come to me." She winked, and dropped down, landing on the balls of her feet from two stories up. "Follow me!" She sung upwards, and ran off.

 

"Bitch!" Sherlock spat, as Mycroft turned to him. "John won't let up until she releases him," he growled, shoving John roughly. Sherlock moved himself, pulling John casually onto his lap. "Please go after her," Sherlock pleaded, grabbing John’s wrists and holding them behind his body. "He will never try and work for us with a glamour command in his mind." Sherlock huffed, watching his brother.

 

Mycroft really needed nothing more than that, seeing as how John was practically keening as he tried to move, looking towards the window desperately. The elder Holmes moved throughout the home in a flash, shooting out the door as the humans guarding there locked it afterwards. He followed Irene's scent efficiently, tracking down the female. This was all so troublesome- really, why couldn't the woman just get her own human? Growling slightly in irritation as he looked around. "Irene, release the human," He ordered, still continuing to follow her scent.

 

Sherlock cursed John as he wriggled beneath him. "God damn it John, calm down," he growled.

 

Irene laughed cheerily, the sound  of it echoing around. "I want him though Myc," she cheered, running in circles and back tracking purposely, so Mycroft would spend longer trying to find her while she got further and further away. "Why would I stop the thing that I want from coming to me?" She asked, like it was the simplest question ever asked.

 

The pull on John’s chest and mind only seemed to grow all the more insistent as Irene got farther and farther away, practically trying to thrash away from Sherlock now. "Let go," He mumbled, words seeming dazed and almost confused in a way. "Mistress," He kicked his legs as the pull suddenly grappled his mind, wanting to tear him out from his place and force him to move.

 

"Because I will take your head if you don't!" Mycroft snapped, nostrils flaring as he took in her scent. Of course, the Holmes had their own heretical trait- foresight. Mycroft nor Sherlock barely ever used it, of course- the future wasn't something either wished to see, and they could probably already predict it themselves. But Mycroft was currently thanking their ancestors as he stood, focusing on the scent and breathing it in as he closed his eyes. Two minutes from now, she would be backtracking again- near the pond-

 

The elder Holmes set off like a rocket at that, blazing down the trail as he found the pond, hearing Irene's insistent laughter. It barely took him a second to see her, and another to lunge and pin her to the forest floor. Mycroft really wasn't one to do the legwork, but he was far from simply annoyed by now. "Release the human," He hissed, holding her arms down.

 

Sherlock was very tempted to just, break Johns arms a little. "Are you bloody serious-" he spat, deciding that, no, he was not going to let John seizure in his arms like a fish out of water, he was going to move again and stop this nonsense. Sherlock rolled, pulling John underneath him and straddling his chest so when he kicked out his feet were no where near the vampire, lest he break bones trying to whack the vampire away. "Hurry up Mycroft," he growled, holding both of John’s wrists above his head.

 

Irene was on the ground. How had that happened? She was not pleased at all as Mycroft was on top of her. He wasn't even on the market for her, so trying to seduce him would be pointless and embarrassing. "You Holmes Boys always ruin my fun," she spat, glamour returning for a second as she whispered, "Release," into Mycroft’s face. "Now get the fuck off me," she spat, wriggling under the stronger vampire.

 

Immediately, John stopped moving, face twisting with confusion as he blinked several times before the haze came out from his eyes. It took him longer than he would have liked to admit before he realized his position, flushing as he looked up at Sherlock. He had an idea of what had happened, and felt quite stupid and embarrassed as he stilled. He didn't say a word, lips pursed as he swallowed thickly.

 

Mycroft quickly got up, brushing himself off as he sneered. "I would suggest not trying something like that again, lest you wish to face further embarrassment."

 

Sherlock raised a delicate eyebrow. "Are you in control of yourself?" He asked in a dry tone. He was extremely sick of the human’s behavior, and he was also annoyed at Irene. So Sherlock was annoyed at both of them, but only John was present, so that meant Sherlock was to act annoyed at him. "Because I'm not letting you up until I know that you will not try and run after Ms. Adler like a lost puppy."

 

Irene swore at Mycroft and turned away, stalking through the forest and leaving him behind. This could not stand, she would not let it. Maybe Moriarty wanted a little something to do....

 

John flushed further. "Yeah-" He nodded his head. "I'm- I'm good now." And he was. His headache had come back, though he could only think that it was the effect from the glamour. Wriggling slightly and deciding that definitely wasn't a good action for his position. "Now let me up, would you?" He cleared his throat, eyes flicking around the room.

 

Sherlock sighed, doing as asked but only after a moment of watching his servant for a little longer. He rolled off of him, shaking his pale frame to rid his body of some of the stress he felt since he had seen Irene at the window. "I should have known she was going to use her glamour," the vampire murmured to himself. "I apologize John," he stated, and noticing that the human was in pain, decided he would go get some food for him from the kitchen. "I'll get you some pain killers, and a snack," he muttered, out of the room before John could protest.

 

John scrambled up properly, brushing himself off for no reason really. He didn't protest against the painkillers- having them sounded like quite a good thing at the moment. Rubbing his temple with a finger, John kept to the bed, squirming to the farthest side of the bed that was away from the window. For once, he felt unnerved by the fact that Sherlock wasn't in the room.

 

Sherlock made his way through the house quickly. It was silent, even more so than in the day, because not even Mrs. Hudson was tittering around. Sherlock found the huge fridge quickly, choosing an apple, some left over salad, and a slice of lasagna. He put the lasagna in a sleek metal microwave while he found the ibuprofen. Once it was all ready, Sherlock found a tray and balanced everything on it, including a glass of water. He wandered back up to his room, a small smile on his face as he pushed past the door. It had been a very long time since he had served a person instead of being served. He went up to the bedside, placing the tray on the dresser. He didn’t say anything, he just drifted backwards until he could lower himself onto his seat.

 

John watched Sherlock carefully before taking the apple, gnawing on it slowly though his stomach was begging for him to engulf the entire tray. He had to be slow with eating now, though the ingrained instinct to take before the food being taken away from him was barking at him as well. If he ate too fast, then he would most likely get sick. Putting the apple aside half eaten, John moved into the lasagna before a pang went throughout his skull, and quickly moved to the painkiller. Putting the pill in his mouth, John washed it down with the water, waiting for the effects to take place as he went back to the food. He flicked his eyes up to Sherlock, chewing slowly. "Thanks." He managed through his food, giving a small nod.

 

Sherlock sniffed. "It's no trouble," he replied, leaning his head back against the chair. Oh how sometimes he wished he could sleep. Life was so tiring and yet he could only ever induce himself into some sort of trance, never actually able to close his eyes and dream, like John was. Sherlock huffed childishly as he mused; crossing both his arms and legs.

 

Irene got home and immediately began to call for her brother. "Aleeeeex," she whined in a childish tone, "they took away my toy." Alex crept out, tilting his head.

"And what do you want _me_ to do about it?" He snapped, still annoyed at the fact Sherlock rejected him after coming to find him.

"Oh no," Irene replied, back tracking slightly, "I was just letting you know I was going to involve Jim in this."

Alex huffed. "He's a lot of work, are you sure you want to fight those Holmes boys?" Alexander asked tiredly.

"Of course," Irene replied, "I owe you that blonde after Sherlock left. I might even take the silver haired one too, just to spite Myc."

Alex grinned then. There seemed to be no sweeter dish than revenge when it came down to it. "I'll send a messenger straight away."


	6. Chapter 6

John sighed, feeling quite unable to sleep due to the fact that the last time he had tried to sleep he had almost walked straight to his death. Yawning, he set the tray to the side, sitting up on the bed and staring at the wall ahead, rubbing at his eyes a bit. It was silent for a moment before he glanced to Sherlock, taking a moment of thought before speaking. "......does it hurt? Being turned?" He asked rather abruptly, continuing to stare at the wall.

 

The messenger didn't take all too long- vampires speed was another advantage to them, really. Jim had been lounging within his own manor, entertaining himself with his humans. He, of course, didn't have glamour- that was something that was boring, and Jim couldn't stand to be bored. No, he had repulsion, something that was close enough to glamour, though not quite. The victims of it had to obey, immediately and effectively, though their minds were still awake an aware of everything that that were doing. It was far better that way; easier for him to prove into their minds. He nearly purred at the news, feeling quite delighted with the thought of helping the Adler’s with such a task.

 

Sherlock raised a brow. "Like you're being dunked in acid, eaten alive and torn apart limb from limb," he replied, "all the while you feel like you're floating on water, surrounded by kisses, lathered in pleasure. It's a very confusing sensation, one I would not put any person through if I had the choice." Sherlock swallowed, flashes of his own turning being brought up in his eyes. He had lost everything that day.

 

John gave a small nod of understanding here, eyes narrowing for a moment. "....Mrs. Hudson told me you didn't want to be here," He started after a moment. "Said you were some kind of.....liability, had to keep up some act." He turned his gaze over to Sherlock, eyes still narrowed with something like anger and curiousness. Curiosity for why they had to put up an act, and anger that they didn't want be here in luxury.

 

Sherlock tilted his head, using an expression that matched one of a curious dog. "The act is us being cruel to our servants. The rest of our family is just as abusive as the Adler’s. "We are a liability because our family does not believe humans are our equals, which is extremely stupid of them." Sherlock steepled his fingers, blinking slowly. "I do not wish to be here because though luxury is obviously brilliant, I deserve so so much worse." He closed his eyes. It normally didn’t do too well to wallow in self-pity, but it happened sometimes.

 

"Yeah," John grumbled out. "You do." Great- he didn't think that humans were below him. A gold star for him. But that didn't excuse him of the fact that he was still harboring humans, still buying them out. Sure, they were happy, but the situation they were in was anything but happy. They were slaves, servants; simple as that. That wasn't something to be happy about. People were dying- every second they were being drained or beat to death or whipped to death- just dying. The thought made John feel rather sick.

 

Sherlock’s expression flattened out. "Well yes, it's always nice to see people so willing to put you through pain when they saved you from a trafficking ring," Sherlock spat. Why was John so insistent on not being happy here? The Holmes' were just trying to help. "And if you're bitching about all the other people being killed, we can't do anything about that so stop." Sherlock huffed childishly, crossing his arms over his chest. He was forever stuck in the face of a twenty seven year old, and pouting like someone who was of two years made him look eighteen.

 

John’s eyes suddenly hardened. "You didn't _save_ me. You don't _save_ people- you're not some hero swooping in and saving the day." He snapped, feeling anger bubble up from his stomach. "And I wasn't expecting you to do anything. Why would you do anything about people dying?" These words were said rather flatly, though the venom was clear within his voice. "And you barely even know what pain is- you're some kind of royalty, you have people practically swooning at your feet. So your family doesn't like you, so you got bit so you became what you are- I get that you've gone through your own trials, but that's over. They're people out there being slaughtered while you’re complaining about being peckish."

 

Sherlock stood abruptly. "I do not _complain_ about being peckish," he snapped, fists clenching. "You don't think Mycroft and I don't try and stop the heinous crimes done through out this war? We are only two, and we've tried influencing others into thinking properly," his pale frame was trembling, "and then we were isolated." He took a deep breath. "You have _no_ idea what Mycroft and I do, you only just got here," he spat, flinching like he was about to pounce, "so you have _no_ right to use your tongue like that."

 

John didn't even twitch, staring at Sherlock evenly. "I can use it however the hell I want." He didn't yell- didn't raise his voice at all, instead keeping it between hisses and growls. "And how am I supposed to know that? How was I supposed to just automatically know, 'oh these must be _good_ vampires'!" He got off the bed, standing in front of Sherlock. "You expect me to just put on a grin and think everything's right and dandy here, but I won't- I can't! You're saying that I should just _stop_ caring about people I might know, people I might love and be friends with, dying?" He questioned, shaking his head and sucking in a breath. "You can try to give me your sob story, but I'm not suddenly going to be all sympathetic to you. You're like all the rest- you think you're all high and mighty because you're not like them, because you're supposedly 'better', but you’re just the same."

 

Sherlock could have stayed still through the first words, carefully keeping his anger on a leash, but the last sentence slashed the lead in half. "I am NOTHING like them!" He screamed, shoving John, and though to him it was a light tap, it caused John to fall. Sherlock couldn't find it in himself to care. "Stop acting like we're the monsters!" His nose was flaring, and he was sure that if he was human he would be almost crying. "By the fucking by," he snapped, trying to reign in whatever sense he had left, "I have not asked you to stop caring; I have said nothing of the sort." He was shaking, very tempted to break this- this blithering idiot. He took in a few short sharp breaths. He looked at John, gaining control, knowing he probably crossed the line. He shuddered. He should have never pushed the human. He twitched, whole body wracked with guilt. Sherlock was blinking furiously; he wasn't sure what he just did. Was he just like his creature partners after all? Sherlock tentatively held out a hand, it was trembling, for John to take, though he did not expect him to.

 

Greg groaned groggily. Why were people shouting? He sat up, the previous day coming back to him. Greg blinked like he had been slapped in the face. He shook his head, banishing the sad feelings that tugged at him. Deal with yelling now, deal with loss later. He rolled out of bed, rubbing his face. It was coming from Sherlock’s room, he was sure. He walked slowly through the house, making it to Sherlock’s room. He opened the door quickly, looking much like an annoyed parent after at this point. Sherlock was standing in front of him, to John on the ground, who was looking at the hand like it had offended his mother. "What the fuck is all the yelling about?" Greg asked crankily, even though it was somewhat dulled by the fact he slurred his words due to tiredness.

 

John felt something sharp snap in his chest with the push, hissing as he clutched his side, blinking back the slight tears that pricked at the edge of his vision as he reached for the nearest thing -that being the side of the bed- pushing himself up on his own and wincing, sucking in a breath as the sharp feeling returned.

"Nothing," He breathed out, ignoring the pain as he used the bed for further support, wavering as he pushed past Greg. His hand kept to the wall, the other clutching his ribs as he made his way down the hall unsteadily. Sherlock could believe whatever he wanted- John was quite done by now. Done with vampires, done with this manor- just done, really. Taking in a few shuddering breaths, John managed to find the bathroom, trudging inside and not minding the darkness as he looked at the mirror, tugging off the shirt with difficulty, letting out sharp whines at the feeling of the sharpness in his side further digging in with pain. Once he managed it, John let out a small breath. It was fairly hard to see, but the bruises were clear enough- a blotch at his side from where a rib had broken -oh, broken ribs were so much fun, weren't they?- and a blooming purple cloud that looked quite like a hand growing on his chest. Putting a hand to them tenderly, John put the shirt back on, wincing once more as he leaned over the sink, taking in a few more breaths before sliding down the marble side of it, crawling back to the door after a moment of silence and locking it. Now, he was really wanted to be alone. No vampires or humans, or whatever else was held in the house. Just alone with his bruises and scars, and the moonlight shining into the room, casting its silvery rays over John as he stared out at the marble floor beyond blankly.

 

Sherlock stared after John. He'd fucked up, of course he did. He found the perfect human and he'd fucked it up. "God damn it!" He yelled wanting to kick the wall. Greg looked at him flatly.

"Well done Sherlock, also, I think you broke a rib. Perfect well done," Greg clapped sarcastically, leaning against the wall behind him, but he stopped when Sherlock’s sharp red gaze turned to him.

"Shut up," Sherlock spat, pacing. John had not _listened_.

Greg sighed, crossing his arms. "Would you like me to go find him and talk to him?" Greg offered, and Sherlock gave a sharp nod. For the first time in a long time, Sherlock looked like a frazzled young man, like one who had missed an important date or told his father he wanted to dance rather than play football. Greg huffed, exiting the room without saying anything else.

 

Greg made his way through the manor, deciding first to check the bathrooms. His instinct was right, and he found the closest bathroom with the light shining out from underneath it. Greg tried the handle, and, when finding it was locked, called out, "John?"

 

John hissed as he shifted at the sound of his name through the door, touching at his side gingerly. "Greg, I'd rather not come out. Could you just maybe leave me alone until I pass out from starvation or something?" He questioned, the sentence ended with a quiet grunt as he tried to lift himself a bit, trying hard not to jostle the bruise too much. He wasn't going to stay in here that long, of course. Or maybe he was. John wasn't quite sure yet. Oh, but he had listened. He'd listened just fine. ".....tell Sherlock to piss off too. And also, I'll stop thinking he's a monster once he stops acting like one. Deliver that message to him, would you?" John raised a brow as he looked to the door.

 

Greg nodded, finding his lock pick and beginning to pick at the lock. "I sure will," he replied. Of course he had a lock pick. What type of self respecting servant didn't have a lock pick? "Any advice for Sherlock to stop acting like a monster? I'm sure he'd love tips." Greg needed to keep John talking, so he would not hear the rattle the doorknob was making as Greg jiggled with it. He paused, waiting for John to reply before he started fiddling again. He needed the cover of voice. Greg wanted to get in their quickly too, John was hissing like he was in pain, and if anyone didn't like other people in pain, that was Greg

 

"For one, stop pushing people around. It doesn't help with the whole, 'I'm not like the rest' thing when he's shoving people onto the floor." His voice dipped into his best impression of Sherlock’s baritone for the words, and he went on, indulging in talking although every breath left his chest aching. "And tell him to get off his damn high horse. It's annoying, and kind of goes with the first part." John didn't know whether the rib had punctured his lung or not, though was quite hoping it didn't. Maybe he could die of that if starvation didn't work, actually. "And to stop acting so creepy when taking blood. That's just weird, calling people 'delectable'." John shook his head.

 

Greg made an affirmative noise. "Of course," he said slightly louder then usual as he shoved the pick upwards, almost cursing by retraining himself. "Sherlock does have a habit of trying to make blood drinking process a 'sensual' situation. I'll let him know." Greg cursed slightly as the lock pick found a hold but slipped. "He does have a tendency to get worked up, I'll get him emotion suppressants or something," Greg bit down on his lip. "Anything else I could tell him?"

 

John seemed to give it a small thoughtful moment before he spoke. "Overall," John bit back a whimper as he moved slightly, feeling the agony almost swelling in his side. "Just stop being a dick." He grumbled out, not holding back the string of curses that came out of his mouth as he tried to figure out a more comfortable position.

 

Greg chuckled, but it cut off after he turned the doorknob with a triumphant "Ahah!" He swung the door inwards, letting out a small "Christ," at the sight of John. He walked over quickly, kneeling next to him. The shirt was hiding whatever had caused John to look like a ghost, and Greg frowned. "Sherlock is an idiot," he stated, crossing his legs and putting his hand out slowly to John, though he paused, wondering if he would be breaching the personal space laws of two people who just met under the rules of the undead.

 

John swallowed thickly, straining to give a small smile. "Yeah....I figured that out." He flinched slightly at the outstretched hand, not welcoming anyone's touch these days. Hands brought pain, brought punishment. John wouldn't admit it, but it was the ingrained instinct to flinch and shield himself from touches that was brought by fear of harm. John was too prideful to admit he was actually afraid.

 

Greg waited as John composed himself, and when he did, he didn’t ask Greg to not, so he lifted the top up carefully, wincing with pity as he saw the full extent of Sherlock’s idiocy. "Well fuck me," Greg said, leaning closer to inspect it, "you have balls of steel it seems. I would be crying if it were me." He stood, getting some cold water in his palm and putting it on John’s chest. "You wanna know what would be more effective here?" He questioned, "A vampires cold hand right, good guess." Greg drenched the wound, looking at John from the corner of his eye. "I'm sure Sherlock would be more than happy to help repair what he broke."

 

John flinched further at the cold press, hissing out a breath before his eyes snapped up to Greg's. "I don't need his hand," He growled. "I don't need to have him come and 'fix' me. I've been stitching myself back up for a long time- I can do it again." He didn't want to have Sherlock's hand pressed against his chest. He didn't even want to be near him, in all honesty.

 

"Fine, fine," Greg replied in an exasperated tone. "Stay here while I find you an ice-pack then." Greg chuckled quietly. John wasn’t going anywhere unless he wanted to writhe and cry in pain.

 

Jim smiled as he pressed a soft kiss to Irene's cheek. "It's been too long," he stated in his Irish drawl, petting her dark hair. "I'm glad I can be back..."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wish me luck for the exams I didn't study for
> 
> also... ENJOY XX the update :)

John sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as he watched Greg go. Looking around at the cold marble state of the place, John waited until Greg was gone far enough before attempting to lift himself up, grunting and growling as he pushed his hands against the edge of the sink, body trembling with pain as he managed to stand. He pressed heavily against the wall as he moved, breathing coming out in short and rasping pants as he moved. He just wanted a proper bed- surely there were plenty around the house. John could last long enough to find one.

 

Irene practically purred at the touch, though her own pride seemed to be painfully plucked at it. Moriarty was her sire, after all- he'd given her, and her brother their own coven instead of keeping them to himself. Really, she couldn't be more thankful for his bite. "It has, hasn't it," She looked him over a bit. "I am quite glad you're back as well- everything always seems a bit more delightful when you're around...."

 

Greg came back and paused when he saw John huffing against a wall, close to the bathroom but close to a room. "You're an idiot too," Greg concluded, going over to the man and wrapping a steady but kind arm around the smaller mans waist. "I'm assuming you want a bed?" He asked, making sure he didn't press too hard anywhere and cause John any unnecessary pain.

 

Jim chuckled. "Of course it is, have you seen me?" Jim jokingly asked, moving around the Adler home with a judging look in his eye. The servants were respectful enough, but they were too injured. What happened to threats and hidden bruises. Jim shook his head slowly. Sometimes people didn’t learn as well as he wished them to.

 

John sucked in a sharp breath at the touch, nodding his head curtly. "Yeah-" Another sharp yelp came out of him as he brushed too close to the wall, shutting his eyes tightly. "Bed would be-" John interrupted his own sentence with another nod. "Bed would be nice." He was thankful that Greg was there, really, lips giving the smallest tug upwards at hearing him call John an idiot.

 

Irene watched Jim carefully, a few servants taking one look and moving away quickly, scurrying back to wherever they went. Of course the vampire was known within the household, or at least heard about enough to be feared. Moriarty was one to be feared, above all else.

 

Greg smirked, holding John against him as he moved to the closest room. "At least take me on a date first," he teased, moving slowly and carefully so as not to jolt John. "Right," Greg said, shuffling over to the bed, "on ya hop," he said, though the last thing John should be doing was hop. Greg supported John so he could use him to climb onto the bed, staying stock still to reduce any movement.

 

Jim waltzed into the study, grinning as he saw Alex. As beautiful as he was when he was turned, and perhaps slightly more volatile, which was a good thing. "My boy, Alexander," he called, opening his arms for the young man as he approached.

 

John tried to settle onto the bed, hissing and wincing before he managed to lie properly on his back. Of course, the small noises did not go unheard. Mycroft had entered the manor for only a few minutes, and after becoming curious with the grunts and growls coming from upstairs, he moved swiftly towards his brother’s bedroom. Only a few were awake, as he knew, and Sherlock would most likely have something to do with the noises after all. Seeing his brother pace about the room, Mycroft's eyes narrowed as he saw no John there, Greg's scent lingering in the air. "Sherlock...." The elder Holmes began in a warning tone. "What happened." It wasn't so much as a question, but a demand.

 

Alexander practically popped up from the chair he had been sitting in, coming over to Jim, grinning from ear to ear as he came over. "Jim," Alex greeted rather cheerily in return, getting straight to the point that he so desperately wanted to get to. "Did the messenger tell you of the plan?" He questioned, Irene sending him a look to stop him from hopping in place with excitement.

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, looking past his brother instead of at him. "I pushed John when he aggravated me so much that I couldn't resist, Greg came in, John left, Greg left, and now I'm assuming Greg is helping John with his maybe broken rib." His tone was flat, emotionless. He felt extremely guilty, but John had brought it on himself really.

 

Jim grinned maliciously. "Of course they did, and what a brilliant plan indeed." Jim chuckled, pinching Alex's cheek. Little did his two minions know, Moriarty was more than just someone you would call criminally insane, he lead the whole entire slave trade, under the simple letter of M. It would normally be too much work for one man, but oh god did Jim love a good bid on one of his stock. "Did Sherlock purchase the blond? Or did he just take it, acting like he owned it?"

 

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his finger. "Brother mine..." He started off, irritation clear. "Humans are fragile- you know this well. You can't just push them about and expect them to be intact." There were far too many things that were irritating Mycroft today- really, it wasn't healthy. "We are supposed to be treating them with respect- not shoving them down when they say something we do not like." They had never hit one of their humans, nor shoved nor pushed nor whipped, and Mycroft would have very much liked to have kept it that way. "You are going to apologize to him, and you are going to help him. You've been damaging him enough in a single day- taking blood when you clearly saw you shouldn't, breaking his rib." Mycroft said finally after a moment of wallowing within his own annoyance, shaking his head.

 

"He was bought." Irene informed as Alex grinned almost manically at the thought of what was to come. The plan was simple enough, really- Jim would enter the manor, and of course he would be invited in. Probe into a few humans minds, -of course they wouldn't be able to do anything about it, nor tell- but wait and watch for the human. Mycroft and Sherlock would no doubt be keeping a close eye on all of them with Jim around, though he would pull through just fine. He always did. His repulsion would come in soon enough- spread it through the humans in the household, and turn them against the Holmes. They would most likely die if the vampires weren't careful, though that hardly mattered. While the Holmes would be too busy trying to somehow help their pathetic household, John would be marching out with Moriarty like a good little soldier. Humiliation and stealing their property- it was perfect, really.

 

John hissed out a breath, trying to shift up a bit, though failed miserably as his brows pinched together, jaw clenching at the feeling of pain residing in his side. The towel wasn't really helping, in all honesty- it was just making the spot a bit wet, not making it cold or numb, as John was desperately wishing for it to be. Taking a moment of thought, John looked to Greg for a moment before bringing his eyes over to Sherlock, who was standing somewhat sheepishly at the door. "Could you," John sighed, feeling his pride sting with the thought of having to ask for help. "....put your hand on it?" Before the vampire could possibly question why, John went on. "Just...you're hand is cold and..." He cut himself off there, instead moving his hands down to the hem of the shirt and trying to tug it off somehow, wincing at the feeling that brought. He didn't really want to take off his shirt- it revealed the prominent state of his ribs, the old, purpling marks of scars curling around from his back, but would really do anything to get the current pain away. Looking to Greg, John sighed. "A little," He winced. "A little help?"

 

Greg nodded, shoving past Sherlock casually and moving onto the bed, leaning over John so he could get his arms all the way around him. He pulled up the back of the shirt first, slowly and carefully, pulling it up over his head. Unfortunately, John had to lift his arms so the shirt came off, but after a few small curses from the blond the top was off. Greg moved off the bed, watching the vampire.

 

Sherlock’s eyes widened at the bruise he had caused. "Shit, I um-" he went forward, putting a cool hand on the skin, and while it probably wasn't enough to actually numb the flesh, he hoped it would cause some sort of relief. "Greg," he murmured, putting both hands on the bruise, touch as light as a feather, "go down stairs and actually get an ice pack," he offered, moving his hands around and touching each bit of the skin.

 

As soon as the hand was on, John flinched, eyes shutting tightly as he sucked in a breath, trembling slightly, but stilling quickly, hearing Greg go off to get the ice. Twitching slightly, John's throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, looking to Sherlock carefully. He wasn't afraid -he was never afraid of them, really- more so simply wary was all. John didn't even want to know what could have happened if he'd said something worse- if a simple shove could leave him with a broken rib, what could a slap do? Well, John knew well what a slap could do, actually, though would much rather not dwell on those kinds of thoughts.

 

Sherlock felt the tension in the room rise, and continued his soft movements with his hands. He wanted to apologize, more than he wanted to apologize, because shoving John had gone against every single fibre of his being and all his beliefs, so why had he. Sherlock, who had never been lost for words, swallowed thickly as he tried to think of some.

"I- uh- crap," he hissed. This was extremely awkward. He was molesting the chest of the human and trying to apologize. "I'm sorry," he said stupidly, voice dropping into some sort of twisted remorse.

 

John tried to curl inwards something, sucking in a quick breath as one of his hands pressed down a bit harder before trying to relax himself. He tried to figure out something proper in his head- saying it was 'fine' wouldn't be of much use, because it really wasn't fine. He could just accept the apology, though that felt quite wrong to do. "You could have been a bit softer with it," He grumbled out. He had thought that the facade of perfection, of kindness would fall off sometimes, and in all honesty had been expecting a bigger blow. Though, considering how Sherlock had been snapping and screaming about how he and his brother were so different, so much kinder towards humans, John had been expecting something less at that point.

 

Sherlock pulled away before he pressed too hard, bending his fingers and taking a deep breath in through his nose. "You're _just_ so bloody stubborn. I bet you could make a monk swearing no violence slap you across the mug." He gave a hesitant smile, putting his hands back flat across the bruise. "It makes me a terrible person but you're just so stubborn," he repeated, eyes watching Johns face.

 

John's face flattened out considerably, brow twitching. "I know I'm stubborn- you're not the first person to say it." His voice became considerably dulled as well, the scars on his back itching and seeming to suddenly burned as he flinched, though this time it wasn't from bruises this time. "It's been worse before- you don't need to apologize for it." Well, he did, but John was getting tired of apologies. The only apology he wanted was from every single vampire who had killed the ones at the camp before he sliced their heads off.

 

Sherlock huffed. "Whatever," he said in an exasperated tone. He crawled onto the bed more, putting his whole body next to Johns. He leant forward, pulling his hands away from John’s chest to examine the bruise. "If we calculate the color of the blood under the skin, and the amount of time it has taken to get to this state," he breathed, and thought for a moment, "that would mean I pushed you at a rate of zero point eight tons, and I was barely trying." He put his hands back on John’s chest, eyes glittering, "Imagine if I had been trying to harm you." He was almost smiling, and his eyes had a light in that barely showed itself.

 

Immediately, John flinched away, both at the thought of how much force the vampire has used and at the thought that Sherlock was right next to him. That ended up with him hissing in pain again, of course, so he stilled and remained uncomfortable as he was silent. He _really_ didn't like how the vampire was smiling about that; harming John wasn't something to be smiling about. Well, possibly; vampires did like to hurt things, after all. Maybe it was a past time. He didn't know.

 

Noticing John’s expression, Sherlock scrambled to apologize. "No I, uh- I didn't mean that I was going to hurt you, I was just calculating what I _could_ do, if you know, I was being attacked, or something," he trailed off, red eyes looking down. If he had been human, he probably would be blushing furiously.

 

Greg opened the freezer, grabbing the ice-packs. He wrapped them up in dish towels, wandering away from the kitchen. He paused and stopped. He had completely forgotten about the fact that he was supposed to be grieving. He swallowed thickly, sniffing to regain himself, and kept walking.

 

John gave a stiff nod, looking to the door and putting his head back, looking up to the ceiling before flicking his eyes to the vampire. "..I…" He started, though something curled in his stomach at the thought of the next words that were meant to come out. "...I'm...sorry. For what I said. Of course, you kind of proved my point a little." The last part was quiet, nearly muttered.

 

Sherlock huffed. "We're all but animals in the end," he replied politically, gritting his teeth. Mutterings were never missed by sharp vampire ears. "But, yes, alright. I did an idiotic thing, and so did you. I assume we're even now." He gave a hesitant smile, though John wasn't looking. Sherlock let it drop away. He wasn't comfortable with smiling genuinely.

 

John caught the smile, of course, though didn't return it. His lip gave the slightest twitch upwards though, the faintest hint of it lifting before it dropped as well. "Sure....if you call breaking my rib even, the yeah, we're even." He shrugged one shoulder, though in all honesty he was too tired at this point to try and hold some kind of grudge.

 

Sherlock sighed, moving his hands slightly, silently intrigued by the warmth coming from John. He had once been like that, before it had been taken away.

 

Greg pushed the door open, having completely regained control. "I have the ice packs," he announced, and immediately he noticed Sherlock practically leap away from John. He frowned for a second coming forward. "It's going to be really cold," he warned the blonde, deciding to keep the packs wrapped up. "Are you ready?"

 

John nodded his head. "Yeah- ready." He confirmed. Sherlock's hands had brought little relief, though not much. Perhaps that was because of John's fear- no, not fear. He wasn't afraid. No, his worry about the hands. They were too cold, too unnatural, too...dead. Too familiar. Swallowing thickly, John dipped his head slightly so his own eyes could survey the wound quietly before he gave the final nod to Greg.

 

Greg stepped forward, unraveling the packs, keeping the towels on them, and placed them lightly on John’s chest, ready to take them off it was too much. He pressed lightly; making sure it wasn't too much pressure, keeping watchful eye on his expression.

 

John’s expression tightened slightly at the feeling of the cold sting before he manage to settle, shutting his eyes tightly. "Alright," He nodded his head to nothing really, more simply talking to himself as he sucked in a breath

 

Greg narrowed his eyes slightly, but left the ice packs in place.

 

Sherlock was watching silently, an expression close to guilt across his features. He hadn't meant for it to actually hurt John. Sherlock pressed his lips together, determined not to apologize again. John had said they were equal after all.

 

As John hissed with the numbing sensation that slowly began to form around his bruise, Mycroft had begun to swiftly move around the house, making sure all entrances and exits were sealed. No need to let another Adler in during a time where John was injured and his brother was acting like a complete moron. He hurried away to the kitchen, seeing Mrs. Hudson begin to clean up a few things, calling her over. If John was truly injured, he'd need himself a proper caretaker. He would force Greg back to the bed if he had to- the man needed some kind of rest. Moving swiftly up the stairs, Mycroft practically swept into the room, surveying everything as Mrs. Hudson came in after him, putting a hand to her mouth and looking towards John with sympathy, possibly even pity.

"Oh... you poor dear, are you alright?" She questioned, though the answer seemed quite clear. He tried to give a nod, managing a small one followed by a slightly more strained smile.

 

Greg looked up, smiling slightly at Mycroft, and then to Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock on the other hand, huffed. They were doing just fine taking care of him. Mrs. Hudson fluttered around them, trying to get closer to John. "Must you meddle brother?" Sherlock said, sniffing. "We were doing alright."

Greg rolled his eyes.

 

"Oh yes, because this is perfectly handled." Mycroft rolled his eyes, turning his gaze to Greg, quickly trying to check if he was alright as Mrs. Hudson let out huffs and puffs at the state of John.

 

"I'm not around for several minutes and this is what happens," She shook her head, flicking her red gaze over to Sherlock for a moment before looking back to John, who mostly just wanted to go to sleep at the moment.

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes like an angsty teen. "Fine, you take over, because I am a child an am incapable of fixing up my own messes," he growled in a bitter tone, and stalking out of the room before anyone could agree.

 

Greg moved out of the way for the hovering Mrs. Hudson, motioning with his hands for her to take over, which she did promptly. She was still muttering, running a soft hand through John’s hair and cursing the stupid brunet who had just stormed out.

 

John offered the old -how old was she really, he wondered- a small smile as she ran a hand through his hair, Mycroft rubbing his temples before following his brother out. He easily caught up with him, catching his arm. "Sherlock," He started in a rather serious tone. "I need to speak with you. Now." His tone left no other room for argument.

 

Sherlock stopped and huffed. "What now," he whined, yanking his arm from his brother’s grip and crossing his arms over his chest.

 

Mycroft rolled his eyes, narrowing them slightly as he looked over his brother. " _Now_ is the time to discuss of you have been treating John Watson. You're not ready for a servant- or at least not this man. I'll be bringing him to Mrs. Turners by the next nightfall- you know she's a kind one, barely ever bosses her humans about. I'll take you back to the traders afterwards to find someone else." Mycroft had already decided that either Sherlock was completely incapable of caring for a human, or simply John wasn't the right one for him to choose. Both seemed logical enough, and the separation of John from the situation would most likely solve the problem itself.

 

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and hissed. " _You cannot take him_ ," he growled, fingers turning into claws. John was his stubborn little human. "Please Mycroft you can't," his voice dropped a little, though his eyes were wild. John was _his_ stubborn little human. He was interesting, brave, and he challenged everything he stood for. He was not _boring_. "Mycroft I'll try harder, I'll be kinder, take more care, you _can't_ take him."

 

Slightly surprised by his brother’s sudden change of mind, Mycroft canted a brow, the edge of his lip tugging downwards slightly. "Sherlock, he's barely been here for a day, and yet you've managed to put him in an extreme amount of danger. Drinking when he's sick, making him practical enemies with the Adler’s, and you're current mistake- you've proven yourself an unfit caretaker." The elder Holmes suddenly let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shook his head. "I don't understand why you're being so stubborn about this. From what I have seen, it barely seems like you want to have him around."

 

Sherlock let out a slow breath through his nose. "First: he came _to me_ and offered his neck for drinking, two, the Adler’s have had their eyes on him since the start, and three, he's extremely bloody stubborn. I only seem like I don't want him around because that's the half truth. But he's interesting Mycroft! You can take care of him if you wish but I want him in the household please. He's not... Boring, brother." Sherlock’s eyes darkened slightly with an unrecognizable emotion.

 

"I will not be taking care of him- he is _your_ responsibility Sherlock. Or at least was." Mycroft sniffed slightly. "I suggest that, if you wish to keep the human around, you gain some sort of manners and actually look after him. If you cannot even manage that, he's going to Mrs. Turner."

 

Sherlock crossed his arms again. "I can't use my manners if he keeps being _rude_ ," Sherlock whined. "And I was just trying to look after him and you barged in. John doesn't seem pleased with any efforts I make, he seems set on hating our kind, and no matter how hard I try he just-" Sherlock made a vague hand movement with one hand, "has to, be... Stubborn."

 

"Fine. I'll ask Mrs. Hudson to leave then, and I'll take Gregory back to the room. Clean up your mess on your own." Mycroft paid no mind to the last words, instead waving a hand and swiftly moving back to the room, opening the door and looking in. "Sherlock has decided to be responsible for once and right his own wrongs. Mrs. Hudson," The elderly vampire nodded, moving past Mycroft with a bit of hesitance. "Gregory, if you'd come with me,"

 

Sherlock gaped at his brother for moment, before narrowing his eyes and glaring. He was on a high fucking horse wasn't he. Sherlock shoved past his elder brother, going to where Mrs. Hudson was previously, relaxing his shoulders and expression as everyone else exited the room. He looked at John and sighed softly. Well, he didn't want to lose his human, so he had to deal. He climbed onto the bed, trying his best not to jostle it, and picked up the ice packs, placing them lightly on Johns chest.

 

Greg chuckled as they walked down the corridor. "Did you see his face? He looked prepared to murder you," he snickered to Mycroft, swinging his arms happily.

 

John raised his brow slightly, though said nothing about it as he settled in the bed, closing his eyes and letting out a sigh. The ice pack stung greatly, but he tried not to mind that either as he drifted off into a rather uneasy sleep, not exactly calm during it. His muscles tensed and relaxed slowly, the process repeating.

 

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "He could try if he wished- he's more of a spoiled brat than anything." Sherlock was simply huffing now- he would get over it sooner or later.

 

Sherlock watched his human, eyes softening to something close to care once he knew he wasn't being watched. He put as much weight onto the bed instead John’s thighs, and settled down for a long night.

 

Greg smiled. "He's only young. He's only fifty after all." He smirked, looking at Mycroft. "Any news on the Adler’s?" He asked, tilting his head and inspecting him.

 

"I can't imagine how he'll be when he's one hundred," Mycroft prayed to the heavens that he would be better, though knew well that he would only progress to get worse. The vampires face hardened some at the mention of the Adler’s, raising his chin slightly. "Irene has been disposed from the area- I hope that her brother will do the same." A spurt of protectiveness, possibly even possessiveness took over Mycroft, and he stepped over a bit more toward Greg. "If she does come back, I can easily get her executed....if she doesn't flee first, of course."

 

Greg noticed the step towards his person, and smiled. "Those cheeky Adler’s right?" He teased, and the smile dropped off into a smirk. Greg, on an impulse, put a hand out and gripped the frozen hand of the other, giving it a squeeze. "Just don't think you're in this alone," Greg reassured quietly, cheeks coloring slightly at the cheesiness of what he had just said.

 

Mycroft gave a soft smile, dipping his head slightly. "I know." He didn't pause to kiss Greg's cheek carefully, looking forwards once more with the softer smile on his face. He knew he wasn't alone on it, and he hoped he never would be, though he knew that it was a foolish thought. Greg would die sooner or later, of course he did; he simply didn't want to think about it.

 

Greg looked down at the expensive carpet, letting out a small huff. He didn't really like silence; it meant that thoughts of lost family members could sneak back in. Greg blinked, shoving them away. "Mycroft," he asked, deciding to break the silence. "Have you ever been in a relationship before?" He asked, deciding it was a rather appropriate question.

 

Mycroft tried hard not to show the surprise from the rather abrupt question, instead swallowing thickly and flicking his eyes to the human. "....I'm afraid I haven't." He replied rather honestly, hoping that this wasn't going to where he thought it was going. He couldn't- it wasn't- he just couldn't.....

 

Greg kept his gaze trained on the floor, very unaware of the turmoil he was creating for the vampire. "Would you consider this a relationship?" He asked in a conversational tone, hand gripping the vampires hand like a vice unknowingly, like he was afraid that Mycroft would run off.

 

Did he? He wasn't sure- he didn't know. "Greg...." He started softly, looking to the man with unusually kind eyes, an expression that usually seemed quite foreign on him. Carefully, he stopped, taking both of the human’s hands and turning Greg to face him. "There's....that's a rather hard question to ask me. You see....if...I thought of this as a relationship, then that would mean emotional attachment, and......" The vampire’s brows furrowed deeply. "I can't afford to.....feel like that. If I do establish something with you, it will....it will simply hurt me in the end. While I will live on, you will die, and- and I am...unsure if that's something I can bear." He flicked his eyes downwards towards the space between their shoes, letting out a small sigh before looking to the silver-haired man once more. "I don't know....." He paused for a moment before removing one of his hands so that he could take Greg's chin between his fingers, lifting it gently to meet his gaze. "...but please do know that I care for you very deeply. I always will."

 

Greg winced slightly. There was a color flowing into his cheeks, he felt like an idiot. And oh god, he didn't want to contemplate joining the army of undead, but he didn't have to stay alive for Chloe now. "I- it's just- I want-" he tried, blinking furiously to kick back the tears forming in his eyes. "If you hold back I won't get to know-" he frowned, not sure how to phrase it. "I won't get to know you completely. If you deny this- us- I feel like I'll be trying my best and giving my all, while you won't be." He bit his bottom lip. The man didn't like being emotional or cheesy, but sometimes it had to be done. He watched the crimson eyes in front of him, leaning his head into the cold hand around his cheek. "Because if you don't put your all into this, I don't think I'll be able to put any of myself into it." He swallowed, forcing his gaze downwards.

 

Oh. Mycroft looked at Greg for a fairly long time, the wheels in his head turning round and round. If he didn't put everything into it....he could lose Greg, possibly the only real good thing in his long life at the moment. Was it worth trying to make the pain lesser....? No, no it wasn't. A soft expression overtaking his gaze, Mycroft's thumb rubbed gently beneath Greg's eye as he cupped his cheek, leaning forwards to capture his lips with his own in a tender kiss before pulling back. "Then I will give everything I have into this."

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahah I HAVE PASSED MY YEAR ALREADY SO I DONT HAVE TO DO EXAMS! ...I'm probably gonna though. 11 credits until I pass with E :D  
> Anyway, you don't wanna hear about my life
> 
> ENJOY XX the update

Greg's eyes widened. His face broke into a grin, and he pulled himself forward, pressing his lips to the cold ones. "Thank you," he gasped against them, finding it hard to ignore the rush of emotions going through his chest. He felt like a hormonal teenager. 'So soon after your wife', his mind chided, and Greg pressed his lips harder against the stone ones. 'It’s been years,' he snapped back at himself, moving both arms behind Mycroft’s neck. They were of the same height really, and it was rather handy.

 

Mycroft was careful not to let his teeth scratch against the others lips as he kissed back, though much more gently. Humans were more or less glass- fragile, with one wrong move and a broken bone, a bruise. He carded his own fingers through the mans shortly cropped hair in a soothing motion, breaking their lips apart and letting his red gaze bore into Greg's. "I suggest you get some sleep- you've only gotten a few hours, after all....." His voice was quiet, possibly because he was afraid that John would awake -of course he knew John was sleeping, he knew everything- and also partially because it suddenly seemed right to keep his voice soft.

 

Greg smirked. "I've worked on less..." He whispered, though his eyes were touched with sadness. If he went to bed Chloe would fill his mind, and he had moved on. The vampire in front of him was proof of that. "I will operate on less," he said more quietly, gaze not meeting Mycroft’s for a second before going back to his piercing gaze.

 

Mycroft frowned slightly, head tilting to the side just slightly before he nodded his head a small bit. "All the same.....it would make me feel a bit better if you would at least relax for a second." He still did not know who this 'Chloe' was, but he could see that the man was still hurting. Perhaps she had been important.....he wasn't sure.

 

Greg caught his bottom lip between his teeth. "Will you at least-" he started, but cut the sentence off, "um," he flushed, "come with me to bed?" He looked down, feeling like an awkward teenager. If Greg was forced to go and sleep, he didn't want to do it alone.

 

Mycroft wasn't all too fazed by the question, instead nodding his head with the hint of a soft smile still remaining on his features. "Of course." He put a cold, gentle hand on the humans shoulder, leading him back to his own room. Yes, Greg did sleep in his own quarters, though the elder Holmes found himself more at ease with him in his own room. No one would dare try to steal him away when he was so near.

 

Greg smiled as he was being led. Why had he worried about asking the question? It wasn't like Mycroft was going to refuse him. A thought popped into his head. "Do you have a nick name?" He asked impulsively, looking at the vampire.

"I mean, of course you have a nickname, who doesn't have one?" He scuffed his foot slightly, grinning a lopsided smile.

 

Sherlock had quickly put himself in a trance, staring at John’s chest as he breathed and slipping into the most unconscious state a vampire could manage. His jaw was slightly slack, and he should have noticed as he started falling forward, but didn't and had only realized that he had lost balance when he was lying on top of the human. It had happened before, Sherlock blinking himself out of a trance realizing he was on the floor, but this was the first time he had done it in the presence of someone else. "Shit," he said, not wanting to push John’s body away from himself, seeing as he was already injured, and used his legs to push off the bed. He watched John slowly, waiting for some sign of reaction.

 

Mycroft raised a brow, nearly scowling. "I do have a nickname," He said with clear distaste. "I don't like it, however. It seemed that my sire was incapable of saying my real name all the time- it was quite annoying." Their sires were the beings who bit them, that being Mrs. Holmes, of course, or as she liked them all too call her, Mummy.

 

John barely felt the weight shift as he slept, far too exhausted to try and even keep alert while sleeping. He let out an aggravated whine when he felt pressure on his sides, glad that it was gone before he came out of it fully. It took John several more minutes to actually blink away, groggy and feeling quite annoyed that his sleep had been interrupted. He let out a rather stupid sort of noise before blinking back the fuzziness of his vision, looking over himself before his eyes moved over to the vampire. He let out a questioning grunt, tongue feeling useless in his mouth at the moment.

 

Greg grinned. "What is it?" He asked cheekily, eyes sparkling as his mind found a distraction. "Is it really bad? Is that why you don't like it?" He asked quickly, smirking happily. "Is it embarrassing?" He kept asking, not getting a reply from the vampire, who seemed to now have selective hearing.

 

Sherlock’s expression fell into a lopsided smile. He crossed his arms, turning his expression into the one of the most innocent creature ever. He shrugged, widening his eyes in 'surprise'. "I think you're imagining things," he replied to the grunt, shrugging. "I was just getting up to stretch my legs. Did you miss me?" He asked cheekily, raising a brow.

 

Mycroft kept his lip pursed, looking forwards before he let out a sigh. "Fine. If you're so dying to know...." He turned on the spot, facing the human and sucking in an unnecessary breath. "It's...." Would he really say it? Could he? ".....Myc." He managed out.

 

John blinked at him once again, lip curling up a bit before he laid himself back down, trying to cover his face with a pillow. "No..." He said hoarsely, rib hurting with every breath and every word he said.

 

Greg broke into a grin. "Myyyyyyyyc," he said slowly, in a monotone, eyes sparkling. "Myc," he repeated, running the name around his mouth as he tried save the look on Mycroft’s face for later use. "Myc Myc Myc Myc." He smirked, putting his hands on Mycroft’s shoulders. "No seriously though, it's cute, if not fitting to your... Happy side." His grin widened, and he snorted.

 

Sherlock faked hurt. "Wow, ouch, that was a low blow John," he said, before breaking into deep chuckles. He regained composure, and tilted his head. "Do you need anything while I'm up?" He asked, tapping his foot absently.

 

Mycroft kept a deadpan look as he went along, shoulders hunching just slightly with each and every tease before he rolled his eyes once again -a common action today it seemed. "I don't have a 'happy side'. I simply have a more......softer side with you." He explained simply, continuing down the hall.

 

Eyes closed for the moment, John pursed his lips for the moment. "Water." He said finally. He needed something to drink, and quite badly actually.

 

Greg kept smiling. "Now Myc," he said deliberately, "of _course_ you have a happy side," he looked over to the vampire. "In fact," he continued, tilting his head, "you're showing it now." He chuckled.

 

Sherlock nodded, disappearing out of the room quickly and making his way down the halls. It didn't take very long for him to get down to the kitchen, and he immediately prepared a warm jug of water and an ice cold one. He didn't know which one John wanted, and when they were both ready he held the boiling jug completely in one palm, the heat doing nothing to him, and same for the ice cold one, which he held in the same hand, in his pinky. He picked up the glass and whisked back through the house, pushing the pulled to door open with his foot. "Cold water or hot?" He asked, going over to the bed and setting both on the bedside dresser, after making sure the expensive doily was underneath it. The vampire had never bothered to remember the name of it.

 

Letting out a huff, Mycroft's face remained neutral as he leaned over, giving a quick peck to Greg's cheek before moving forwards a bit faster to open the door for the human. "In you go." He said promptly, nodding his head to the room and saying nothing about the 'Myc' thing.

 

It didn't take John all too long to think about it. "Cold water." He nodded his head, tilting his he's slightly to the side to get a look at Sherlock. He could manage warm water just fine, really, it didn't bother him to drink it; but he hadn't had cold water -fresh, cold, cool water- in such a long time that his tongue suddenly felt dry, almost sand papery just thinking about it.

 

Greg smirked and went through the door, touching Mycroft’s arm as he passed, smiling happily. "Thanks Myc," he purred, baiting, trying to get a reaction. "You're so lovely Myc," he whispered, backing towards the bed with a wicked grin. "Myyyc, come to bed." He stopped when the backs of his knees hit the side of the bed.

 

Sherlock smiled and poured a glass from the now frosty mug. "Sit up," he asked nicely; holding the glass to the blond, "I don't want you spilling it on my bed."

 

Though the name was fairly annoying, Mycroft came towards Greg all the same, stopping only when he was mere inches away from the man. The quick urge to push him down onto the bed was suppressed for the moment -both for the fear that he would break him with the hurried action, and that it would be inappropriate for some reason or another. "Alright- get into bed." He nodded down towards the mattress

 

Carefully, John pushed himself upwards, wincing slightly from the pain but managing all the same, too desperate for a drink to think of the actual pain at the moment.

 

Greg raised his eyebrows. "You'll have to buy me a drink first," he purred, changing his gaze so he was looking at Mycroft with half lidded eyes. He could see something in those crimson eyes, oh, and Greg was in the mood for something that wasn't mourning. Anything but that. "Well, actually," his tone lightened slightly, "you don't." He shrugged. "If you want me in bed," he murmured, standing straight, "you'll have to make me."

 

Sherlock crept forward, holding the glass out, the coldness of the glass actually quite pleasant. "Steady," he muttered as John took it off him.

 

He really needed nothing more than that, in all honesty. Mycroft -as gently as he could- pushed Greg down onto the bed by his shoulders, somehow easily climbing on top of him. He was an agile creature, and his movements were swift as he did so. He'd had sex before, of course, though that had been so long ago- he'd been human, not a vampire. Bringing his mouth down to the man’s mouth, he kissed him roughly, letting the kisses trail down his jaw, to his neck. There, he sucked on the skin in an almost loving way, relishing the taste, and-

 

His instincts seemed to kick in rather suddenly, because the next thing the elder Holmes knew, his fangs suddenly pierced through the artery on Greg's neck, the loving kiss suddenly turning to a gulping need for blood. Of course, nearly seconds after he realized this, he pulled back, stepping off from the man and feeling quite disgusted by himself. "I-I apologize." What was he even doing? Could he not go a single second without the taste of blood? No- really, _what_ was he doing? He couldn't have control here; he wouldn't be able to control himself at all. Not his hunger, not his strength. If he even lost it for a second, he could nearly break Greg in half and- and oh god.....he couldn't imagine doing that. Mycroft nearly felt sick.

 

John took the cup from the vampire, his hands shaking just slightly before he brought it up to his lips. Of course, the second the first drop of cool, cold, oh so refreshing water came into his mouth, he nearly lost it. John downed the cup in seconds, wasting not a single drop within it, even trying to get something out of it when it was clearly empty.

 

Greg had been smirking as Mycroft kissed him, but suddenly it was painful, and it wasn't okay, and Mycroft was apologizing, there was the tangy smell of blood, oh god. Mycroft was close to him, looking mortified, and Greg didn't know what to do. It wasn't fine, of course it wasn't, but Greg didn't want to say that. So Greg stayed silent, putting a hand to his bleeding neck and rolling off the bed. It had been an agreement between the pair. No feeding without Greg's permission, and there had been no consent in this situation. So Greg stayed quiet, holding his hand to his neck and walked out of the room, not knowing what to say, or how to respond. He decided instead to go to the bathroom, find the first aid kit and clean up the puncture wounds.

 

Sherlock chuckled, holding his hand out for the glass. "John," he rumbled quietly, "there is a whole jug here." He waited patiently for the glass, and when it was given back to him, filled it again, smiling slightly. He assumed that this would be the closest John would ever get to the hungry need a vampire got when craving blood, or he hoped.

 

Mycroft was quick to wipe the blood from his mouth, looking down at the ground. 'That's what you get,' a rather nasty voice hissed in his head. 'You are a monster, and you know it. Can't keep one single promise without hurting someone, can't do one thing because of-' Mycroft waved the voice off, staring at the ground for some time before moving to the bathroom slowly, though didn't enter. It took him several moments before he could manage something to say, the blood taken seeming to make his insides burn rate than give him pleasure. ".....I'm....I'm so sorry, Greg." And he was. He hadn't meant to- not at all. But he had. There was no excuse for what he'd done.

 

John took the glass, not wasting the time to gulp it down as well. Water dribbled out from his mouth, and the man continued to practically guzzle down the cool liquid before his stomach nearly hurt from how much water he had consumed.

 

Greg looked at the white patch he had on his neck, happy that the blood hadn't soaked through. Yes, it was good that Mycroft had realized so quickly. He had never pierced the artery before, and if he had stayed too long on it, the situation could have been much worse. Upon hearing the words outside the door, Greg looked at himself in the mirror. The vampire sounded positively upset. Greg took a breath. He walked to the door, and opened it slowly, looking at the vampire. He didn't say anything still, but stepped forward to pull the other into a hug. It was a tight one, and Greg balanced his chin on the cold shoulder that was at the perfect height.

 

When John held his hand out for another glass, Sherlock took it, but didn't refill it. He placed it on the dresser, and looked at the human. "You'll be peeing all night if you drink this entire thing," he explained, lacing his fingers together on his knee.

 

To say the least, Mycroft was surprised by the hug. He thought that Greg wouldn't even want to touch him- why would he? He'd broken a promise in the most awful way, and felt as though he could never be forgiven. But he returned it all the same, managing to keep his strength in check as he wrapped his arms around the other, nosing into his silver hair carefully as he held him just a bit tighter, careful not to hurt him. "I am sorry- I am. I just- I simply couldn't- I couldn't control myself..." He tried to explain, voice a whisper. "I am so, so sorry..."

 

Letting out a grumble, John settled in the bed. "I'm just thirsty- and it wasn't _that_ much,” he tried to defend himself.

 

Greg nodded quietly. "I know, I know." He felt the strength that was hidden behind the arms around his person, and for the first time in his time knowing the vampire, he was intimidated by it. Because now that they recognized that there was something between them, there was the chance that they'd try to take the relationship further, something had happened. Greg swallowed and pulled back to look Mycroft in the eyes. "I'm sorry I tempted you into it," he murmured. "I won't try to again unless you feel completely in control."

 

Sherlock chuckled again. "You look half drowned," he snorted, miming wiping at his chin. "And you got my bed wet thank you." He leaned back in the chair, kicking his foot up onto his knee with practiced ease.

 

Feeling far more than guilty at this point, Mycroft loosened his grip considerably, looking over the human with a soft look. "Don't apologize for it- it's not your fault at all. It's my fault- I knew I shouldn't have-" He stopped himself there. Because, even if it was in the back of his mind, he knew that he could hurt Greg if they proceeded with what had been happening, even after he had taken the bite. He knew he could have hurt him. He knew that, in any real situation, he wouldn't have control there. It was a primal thing- and he'd known that. He'd _known_.

 

Looking down at the slightly wet bed around, John tried to shuffle back down into a more comfortable place. "Its fine, not that wet...." Alright, maybe it was a _bit_ soaked, though that hardly mattered.

 

A small frown appeared on the butlers face. "Stop," he ordered in a firm tone, which he probably shouldn't have, Mycroft being his superior and all, but did so all the same. "I'm not blaming you for this, because though it is you," he paused, mulling it over, "it's not _you_." He tapped Mycroft’s head with a finger and then his heart. "I know you don't want to hurt me," he touched Mycroft’s heart lightly, "but something in here," he put his palm to the side of Mycroft’s head, "does." He let himself smile. "Maybe next time I'll just have to chain you down."

 

Sherlock smiled again. "Would you like a different bed? We have a whole mansion to choose from, I'm sure we'd have a guest room somewhere that'll fit your needs." He leaned forward again, raising his eyebrows.

 

The idea seemed one that was almost slightly plausible to Mycroft, though he didn't mention the fact that any chains geared down onto him would barely be able to hold him down with the scent and taste and overwhelming need for blood came to arise- blood that could easily be provided from a rather wonderful source. Feeling all too disturbed by the thoughts, Mycroft lifted his head slightly to give a small kiss onto Greg's forehead, keeping his hand on the other mans shoulder, not daring to even try and touch his neck. "No part of me wants to hurt you...." He murmured quietly, red eyes turning down slightly. "It's simply.....the....not-me that wishes to bring you harm." And it was true- Mycroft could barely even imagine laying a single finger on the butler in a harmful manner, but the more primal side of his nature.......it had other ideas.

 

John considered it for a moment before patting the bed a small bit before giving a small shake of his head. "I'm fine here-" John stopped himself abruptly, clearing his throat a small bit before he turned just a flush of pink, flicking his eyes to Sherlock. "I mean- sorry, this is your room after all- I'm- am I-?" He tried to somehow question, though even he didn't know what he was asking about.

 

Greg saw the flash of desire go through the red eyes, and smirked slightly, though he let it drop off as Mycroft kept speaking. He leaned into the kiss on his forehead, pulling back and smiling. "That's a relief to know," he said, a lopsided smile appearing. He pursed his lips in a thoughtful way. "And since normal chains wouldn't be able to hold you... We'll have to get some made. You have enough money." He snorted. He looked in Mycroft’s eyes again, mellowing out slightly. "I don't blame you for this." He moved his head slightly to the side, exposing the bandage.

 

Sherlock let his eyes widen. "Sorry for...? There's nothing to be sorry for, I don't sleep anyway." He leaned back, putting both of his feet on the edge of the bed. "If you feel comfortable here then I don't mind." He paused for a second, thinking. "Just don't bleed, that would be a bit distracting for me." He frowned. He was feeling peckish. He'd find Molly, she'd probably be willing.

 

At seeing the bandage, guilt made his insides twist in awful ways once more, and he brought up a cold, gentle hand to touch at the bandage lightly, his fingertips just brushing over it before he pulled back. He should have blamed him for it- he should have pushed him away for breaking the agreement held between them. But he wasn't, which was confusing Mycroft the most at the current moment. Why wasn't he? Shaking the thought off, the vampire was hesitant before he took Greg's hand, feeling as though the man were made of china, just so fragile, so delicate that with a single rough touch he would break. "I'll have some made later," He nodded his head a bit before taking Greg's other hand. "But again, I am sorry. And please, don't brush off my apologies. I only give them to you, you do know."

 

"I'll try," John let out a small sort of huff. "It'll be a struggle though." It was a dry sort of humor, of which he wasn't sure even made sense at the moment, all things considered. 'All things' being that he felt about ready to possibly pass out.

 

A small shiver went through the butlers frame. He nodded, "I accept your apologies." He paused, looking at Mycroft. The vampire looked dissatisfied. "What do you want me to say?" He paused for a second, wondering if he should tease Mycroft, and decided that yes, he would, even if he might cross a line. "Do you want me to call you monster, look at you like you'll kill me any minute?" He cocked his head slightly. "Do you me to flinch when you speak, and tremble at your touch?" He bowed his head now in a dark way. "Because I will, I am only the lowly butler after all." Greg looked back up, eyes hard. "But I won't. Not ever." And he wouldn't. Even if he'd been bought off by those darned Adlers, he probably would have tried to fight, and now that Mycroft was feeling a little primal... Well, that was no reason for him to change his ways. "I'm not afraid of you Myc."

 

Sherlock huffed, crossing his arms. "Humans are tetchy a lot of the time," he stated, taking his feet off the bed and standing. "Do you want to try and get some rest while Mrs. Hudson puts some food on?" That would be a perfect cover for him to go feed. And John wouldn't be disgusted with him.

 

Mycroft's insides continued to swirl and clench with the actual thought of Greg being fearful of him- cowering and flinching away from his touch, thinking of himself as lowly. He wasn't- Mycroft even knew he wasn't. He was a respectable man, and one that would be treated as fairly and as equally as he could be during these times, and Mycroft didn't wish to be feared by the one person who actually loved in such a strong sense. He was a bit more than relieved by the end, shoulders shifting downwards from their tense position, mouth becoming a bit looser than the tight line it had been drawn into. "I don't want you to be afraid of me," He began after a moment of collecting his thoughts properly. "I....I just want you to be careful. I would never, ever intentionally hurt you. I would rather burn myself with silver than to do that. But.....I simply want you to be careful." The vampire explained.

 

John nodded his head almost immediately, settling down further, mouth not feeling as dry as it had been before. "That sounds.....good, yeah." Deciding quickly that trying to move further wasn't a very good decision, John remained where he was, leaning his head back slightly and letting out a small sigh.

 

Greg smiled. "That sounds like reverse psychology to me," he smirked, happy that the tense look in Mycroft’s expression had dropped off. "Now that you told me I need to be careful I feel like I should play with fire." He chuckled, but let it fade out at Mycroft’s expression. "Of course I'll be careful, and remember, we're getting chains soon, so I'll be able to tie you up if you're bad." Secretly, Greg was quite pleased at Mycroft saying he'd rather hurt himself than hurt his own person, and it made his heart thrum happily.

 

Sherlock turned and left the room without another word, and made his way to the servant’s quarters. On his way there, he passed the kitchen, and he ducked his head in. "Mrs. Hudson, please, if you're not busy, make a meal for our new guest." He smiled pleasantly at her, and continued on his way. He got to the quarters, and knocked on the main door. It was opened by a Mike, who grinned happily at the vampire. "How can I help you sir?" He asked rather sprightly for early morning. Sherlock averted his eyes slightly. He didn't like this part of the whole ordeal. So, instead of talking, he tapped the side of his neck, raising his eyebrows in question. Mike paled a few shades, then nodded.

"Of course sir," he swallowed. "I'll just get a drink of water first." Sherlock nodded. "Thank you." He didn't bother to ask for Molly, and stood like a soldier while he waited for his meal to return.

 

Mycroft raised a brow, a teasing smirk twitching only slightly onto his lips. "Oh? Will you?" He was practically purring now, finding this rather amusing at the moment as he took the tiniest step closer, pressing their bodies together. It was teasing only, and possibly inappropriate after what had happened, though he supposed it was best to lighten the mood just a bit.

 

Mike really wasn't one to do the feeding, in all honesty, and it was a bit scary to even watch. He'd seen it happen when passing through a few doors before- Mycroft had always been quick about it, taking what he needed and usually simply patting Greg's shoulder, or whoever he fed off of when he was done. But, well, Sherlock......didn't do it quickly. Mike had seen him basically card his fingers through their hair, touching at their sides, even once going ahead and wrapping his arm around someone's waist. It seemed a bit more than a little uncomfortable to think about for Mike, actually, though what was he supposed to do? Say no? Moving towards the bathroom, Mike didn't get the water, instead standing, sighing, and quickly deciding it was best to just get it over with. He nearly moved out from the bathroom before Molly wandered in, blinking at the sight of the man.

"Oh, Mike," She offered the small, twitching sort of smile. "Morning. Or, well, not morning, but-" Molly stopped herself there, shaking her head a bit before she finally noticed his obvious discomfort. "You alright?"

 

It took a moment before Mike shook his head. "I'm fine," He reassured. "It's just....Sherlock's waiting for a feed and-"

 

Molly barely even hesitated to cut him off. "I'll do it for you." She said a bit too quickly, though suddenly turned nervous, twiddling her fingers. "I-I mean, if you don't want to do it, and he wants me- wait, sorry, that didn't-" The woman fumbled over her words, though to Mike that hardly mattered as he came forwards, giving her hand a grateful shake with his own.

 

"Thanks Molly," He gave her a quick smile before hurrying out of the bathroom and down the hall, Molly going the opposite way until she found the vampire himself. It wasn't that she liked to be fed off of- it was a slightly painful process, but the way Sherlock could would caress one during it- she had a bit of a crush, yes, which might have been a bit wrong, but Sherlock was kind and she certainly wouldn't miss a chance to be held by him in such a manner, even if it was to simply draw her blood for food.

Greg grinned at the vampire. "Oh yes," he said quietly, leaning forward so he was right by Mycroft’s ear, though it was hardly necessary, due to the fact that he had super hearing. "Tie you up and leave you down in the basement like a bad dog... Or something," he chuckled pulling back. The butler had never been one for talking dirty or seduction. "As long as you don't cheat and make sure they're made properly, because if you got free while something was going on I might get slaughtered," he chuckled again, pressing against Mycroft’s cold body, enjoying the sensation.

 

Sherlock raised a questioning brow as Molly opened the door instead of Mike. "Good morning Molly," he said pleasantly, immediately knowing that she had taken Mikes place. "I'm assuming you took Mike's place," he rumbled, tilting his head. Molly barely even nodded at him. She was trembling, and Sherlock knew it wasn't to do with fear. It was obvious by the way her cheeks were heated, and her pupils wide, shuffling of the feet in his direction. All subconscious acts of attraction. "Alright," he said, "follow me," he ordered lightly, walking down the hall for a bit, before stopping and facing the small female. John had told him off for the creepy blood drinking, right, so he wasn't going to do that. Steeling himself, Sherlock placed both hands on Molly's shoulders and leaning towards her neck. No extra touching, no caresses, nothing. He pierced her neck quickly and efficiently, taking what he needed quickly, pulling away and letting himself tuck Molly under the chin as he licked his teeth clean of any blood. He nodded towards the human, wiping her neck slightly, and walked away without another word.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's an update woo! One more exam to go and then it's holidays, you're all invited to my house for a party, BYO platter... :P
> 
> ENJOY XX

Mycroft was pleased with the first part of it, though the last part was what had him feeling a bit knotted once more. Trying to remain as calm as he could at the current moment, Mycroft carefully brought a hand to Greg's back, holding him against himself and letting out a small whistle through his nose as he breathed out, though it was unnecessary. He didn't need to breathe, after all. "Let us not think about that," He said quietly, looking over Greg's face carefully. "What you should be currently doing is going down to the kitchen for something to eat." He knew the man knew how to take care of himself just fine, but he couldn't help but worry that he would forget for some reason.

 

Molly felt the pinch of pain, and waited for the gentle touches, though it didn't come. She was a bit more than confused as he walked away, feeling almost cheated out of the luxury she had been waiting for. Standing there for a moment longer, Molly blinked, frowning as she followed after the other for a moment before stopping, feeling all too foolish. Looking down at her hands, Molly let out a small sigh, solemnly heading back to her own quarters looking quite forlorn. Oh, she knew well that Sherlock would never be interested, by the least that she could do was try. She had fought for his attention since day one, and though she was quite happy with kisses on the cheek, she sometimes wanted a bit more than that. Going back to her own room, she continued to feel foolish, rubbing at her eye and letting her hands fall into her lap.

 

John, in all honesty, was having a much better time than she was. Mrs. Hudson had brought him up a light soup and a roll of bread with some chocolate pudding, twittering on about something or other before she quickly remembered she had sometime to do and promptly left, though not before she began to properly bandage John up. It was just for caution, to somehow cushion the wounds even a little. The white patch he now had covering the wounds hardly bothered him as he sipped at the soup, relishing the taste and flavor of it with a smile.

 

Greg raised his eyebrows. "I thought I needed rest?" He asked in a teasing tone, looking into Mycroft’s red eyes. "Am I supposed to be in two places at once?" He asked, moving his arms so they balanced on Mycroft’s shoulders, linked together at the back. "Because I'm also quite content here, and that would mean I have to be doing three things at once, which is impossible." He sighed in a fake way, pouting. "You expect too much of me." He shook his head, now smirking.

 

Sherlock did not know what to do now. He could go back up to his room, or sit around and catch up with the servants, but he didn't really want to deal with Molly's hurt expression, or Mike's fear. Sherlock growled deep in his throat. Why couldn't everything just be easy? Letting out a huge sigh, he decided on the music room. He changed the direction in which he was walking, and promptly went there, choosing the huge grand piano this time instead of his trusty violin.

 

"I'm asking you to go and get food, since obviously you don't seem to need rest," Mycroft rolled his eyes just a bit, pulling back slightly, ears pricking at the sound of the piano somewhere in the distance, though he dismissed it. It was simply Sherlock- John had possibly fallen asleep and his brother had grown bored of watching him or something like that. Mycroft had made sure that Irene got the message not to trespass, nor to try and steal their humans, so he was sure that the man would be fine.

 

Greg could disagree with the vampire’s statement. He needed rest, rather badly, it's just... Well, sleep brought dreams and memories and that wasn't what the butler needed right now. Not after he had decided to move on from a woman he had loved five years ago, and had probably been dead for a reasonable portion of that time. "Fine," Greg snapped playfully, tapping Mycroft’s shoulders and pulling away. " _You_ can make me something..." He paused, grinning wickedly, "to show you are truly sorry." He chuckled, walking down the hallway without any more hesitation.

 

Mycroft's brows rose considerably at that, letting out a small sigh before he moved the other way, to the kitchen to apparently make him something. What kind of food was he supposed to make? Or, a better question- what food was he still even able to make? He hadn't even touched food in years- just looked at it, really. It would do nothing for him if he ate it- perhaps he would simply get sick, he didn't know. But he _was_ sorry, and he did desperately want to apologize.....so he supposed he would simply have to manage through it.

 

Greg ran into a wandering Sebastian as he practically skipped through the mansion. "If you see Lord Mycroft," he said to get the man’s attention, using all his will to not spill the nickname, "Tell him I'm in the music room." Greg paused, "Actually, he's in the kitchen; go let him know for me?" He asked, and though it was only phrased as a small favor, since Greg was head butler, it had to be done.

"Sure Greg," Sebastian replied, slapping Greg on the arm as he passed. Greg nodded at him, continuing on his way until he got to the music room, and stepped inside, nodding to Sherlock who was flying across the keys in an extremely complicated piece. When he was finished, Greg applauded wildly, and began to chuckle as the vampire looked slightly confused.

"I didn't do that well," he muttered, huffing out an unnecessary breath. "I played many a B flat wrong and in the Ritornello I hit two wrong keys." He pouted, glaring at the piano.

"You did wonderfully m'lord," Greg replied, going to sit cross legged at the end of the piano on the floor.

 

Mycroft had honestly no idea what he was making when Sebastian came around to tell him that Greg was in the music room, the vampire giving him a nod of acknowledgment before dismissing him. After several minutes of going through what they had before deciding that a more apologetic gesture seemed to be some kind of pastry, a treat of some kind. Mrs. Hudson was helpful enough to suggest cookies, of which Mycroft deemed appropriate. So, after making the batter -after several tries- he balled up the dough and put them in the oven, gliding towards the music room and entering silently. "Your apology is currently in the oven," He noted in a casual sort of way.

 

Greg was in an in depth conversation with Sherlock about Antonio Vivaldi when Mycroft came in. "But just because he faded from known times for over one hundred years doesn't make him-" Sherlock was snapping, when he cut off. "Is the apology for the rather large bite mark on Greg's neck because I was going to comment on it then realized the story would come up sooner or later." Sherlock said, looking from his brother to his friend in a rather quick manner. Greg smirked, though he knew it was quite stupid of the younger Holmes to be so blunt.

"Yes it is," Greg said quickly, turning to Mycroft and changing the subject. "Oooo," he said in a high pitched tone, rolling from his cross legged position to one on his stomach. "Is it savory or sweet?" He asked, raising his silver eyebrows.

 

Walking inside the music room fully, Mycroft seated himself down at a chair near Greg, a soft smile on his lips. "I suppose you'll find out." He said vaguely, feeling greatly in the mood to tease the man. It was much better than dwelling on what he had done. His stomach was already in knots from Sherlock reminding him of the bite, though of course Mycroft hadn't forgotten it.

 

Greg let out a small groan. "I’m terrified..." He said, smirking. "And I pray to god someone helped you cook because I didn't actually think you'd do it for me." He chuckled, and Sherlock decided to speak again.

"So what happened, did you lose control and bite too hard or was it consensual?" The younger vampire said rather casually, crossing his legs and sharing his gaze between the pair.

 

Mycroft's smile drifted down some, and guilt passed over his face. "I....lost control." He nodded his head, lip twitching at having to admit such a thing to his brother, who he was supposed better than. It was embarrassing, to say the least, and Mycroft turned his gaze to Greg, wanting rather desperately to apologize further for his actions.

 

Greg stood quickly and whacked the young Holmes over the ear. "You don't say anything else," he snapped, and walked over to Mycroft, straddling his lap quickly and without hesitation. "You," he said, smiling slightly, "look like death warmed up," he said jokingly. "So don't be so guilty." He tapped his neck, "This? This is nothing compared to what I've had before..." He met Mycroft’s eye, keeping it for a moment, "so we're good okay?"

 

Looking at Greg with a soft expression, Mycroft felt the tiniest hint of anger swell in his chest at the mention of him having experienced worse, bringing his hands to the mans sides in a rather possessive manner, leaning his head up to kiss him in a light manner, though his lips lingered on Greg's lips before he managed to pull himself back. "Yes, I believe we're good."

 

Sherlock saw the kiss and made a retching noise, getting up. "Yes, well, I live for disgusting romance as you know..." He grumbled, exiting the room.

 

Greg chuckled. "How old was he again when he turned? Thirteen? Yeah I think that was it." He chuckled, pressing his lips back to the vampires. "It's good that we're good," he purred, leaning into Mycroft.

 

"So very good indeed." Mycroft ran his fingers softly through Greg's silvering hair, feeling something pulling at the cold thing in his chest that was a heart. Another reminder that Greg wasn't as young as he used to be; the gray hairs had slowly increased over the years, a thing that Mycroft had decided not to notice, though was now rather painfully aware of. But he shook the thoughts away, holding Greg to himself, mouth tilting upwards slightly at the sight of his brother so apparently disgusted.

 

Greg chuckled to himself. "My hair isn't that bad is it?" He asked, tilting his head so it was pressed into Mycroft’s hand. "I mean, I thought the grey look showed experience and suave-ness in a man." He grinned, running his own hand through the vampire’s soft hair, one that would never change, always stay the auburn color it was.

 

"Such a silver fox." Mycroft practically teased, which was quite a strange thing for him to do, considering he wasn't exactly one to tease people. "You do look lovely, my dear." He closed his eyes to feel Greg's fingers combing through his own hair, giving a light smile.

 

After he had finished his pudding and food, John had decided it was probably best to simply lay down in the bed, rest, do something like that, though had begun to find it extremely boring, and felt as though he were going to explode if he stayed in the bed any longer. Sighing, John managed to push himself off the bed a bit, hissing slightly with the feeling it brought him, but finding he could walk a bit better now. His pain threshold was better than most, in all honesty, and John found that after being beaten around like a toy had actually made him more resilient to pain. Hobbling down the hall, John went to explore the manor further, a thing he hadn't been able to do as of yet.

 

Greg widened his eyes in a comical way. "Aww really? Myc, that's so sweet of you to say!" He said in a high pitched voice, jokingly, pressing a quick peck to his nose. Extracting his hand he moved off Mycroft’s lap, standing and stretching. "Well, I'm interested to see the mess you've created for me." He made his way to the door, pausing to look back at the vampire. "Coming?"

 

Molly had got off of her bed, too fidgety to stay still, and found her duster. She might as well do something helpful while she moped. What had gotten into Sherlock? Was he feeling ill? Molly bit her bottom lip, so lost in thought she almost crashed into the new blond guy. "Oh!" She exclaimed, stepping back. "Oh I'm sorry," she said quickly, looking down, before steeling herself and returning the gaze. "John right?" She asked quietly, putting out a small hand. "I'm Molly Hooper."

 

Mycroft was already striding towards Greg, hooking his arm and pulling him along. "Of course." He was sure it wasn't that much of a mess- Mrs. Hudson had directed him on what to do, and so he was almost positive that the cookies would be alright. And if they weren't....he supposed a simple apology would do.

 

John backed up some, letting out a small hiss, but was otherwise fine. He decided not to show the pain, instead offering Molly a smile and carefully taking her hand. "John Watson."

 

Greg chuckled, letting himself get dragged along. He hadn't actually expected Mycroft to do the cooking for him, and he was quite pleased with the vampire. Though the bite had crossed the line and could very likely have killed him, Greg was allowed to lord this fact over the man for as long as pleased. He wouldn't, of course, but the option was there and it was good to know.

 

Molly nodded. "Yes, everyone knows who you are." She let out a small giggle, though an idea was forming in her head. "You're the one Sherlock chose, everyone's saying you have him on a tight leash and he's doing everything you say." She didn't let the man reply. "Did you tell him to stop what he does when feeding?" She asked rather forcefully for such an innocent looking lady.

 

Mycroft led Greg down to the kitchen, happy to see that Mrs. Hudson had taken the cookies out from the oven. They looked slightly burnt, but fine all the same, and for once Mycroft felt a small surge of pride for something so small. "There you are," The vampire nodded his head to the cooling cookies. "Your apology."

 

John blinked in surprise at the forcefulness of her tone, swallowing thickly. "I just sort of told him that it was just a bit creepy, and a little uncomfortable how he feeds. I didn't think I had him on a tight leash or anything- I didn't even know I had him on a leash." He gave a small shrug of his shoulder, deciding to dwell on the fact later as he tried to move forwards.

 

Greg grinned, looking at them for a moment. He stopped and crossed his arms, tilting his head as he surveyed them. "You made cookies." He stated in a flat voice, looking at his partner, then to the counter. He broke into a grin, tweaking Mycroft’s bum as he walked forward. "If that isn't the cutest thing done in history I don't know what is," he said, picking one up and examining it, before taking a bite. "And they taste rather good too!" He exclaimed, turning back to the vampire and ushering him forward. "I accept your delicious apology," he purred, taking another bite.

 

Molly stepped into the where John was planning to walk, nodding thoughtfully. Once she made sure his path was thoroughly blocked, she spoke. "Oh yes... Of course you told him it was creepy... Of course." She smiled, but it was kind of empty. "Well, John," she pat him on the shoulder once, brushing past him. "I'll see you around." She brushed past him continuing her dusting without letting him reply. So John told Sherlock that he was being creepy and he just stopped...? That was a leash if she ever saw one.

Mycroft's brows rose considerably at the apparent pinch, nearly jumping in surprise. They were close, yes, but they hadn't done anything like that before. Not that Mycroft really minded, of course- he was fine with it. It was simply a bit of a....surprise, was all really. "I am glad that you do." Coming forwards, he waited for Greg to stop chewing before giving him a light kiss, Mrs. Hudson letting out a happy hum herself. Oh, she knew about them of course- the cutest thing they were, really. Enjoying the sweet taste of the others mouth, Mycroft pulled back, smiling in the same tender sort of way.

 

Watching Molly go, John let out a sound similar to that of a huff, hobbling on. Well. She was.....odd. A bit pushy too, though John decided not to mind her. Who wouldn't find that a vampire caressing them to take blood a bit creepy? Sighing, John made his way down the hall, looking into a few rooms, though found that most of them either seemed to be spare bedrooms, or simply lounging rooms. Moving onwards in his own small quest of boredom, John found himself at the edge of the hall faced with a rather large door in front of him. It was cracked open slightly, and John pursed his lip before pushing it open further. Immediately, his eyes widened, mouth falling open at the sight. It was a library. Not just a library, but a rather giant one, actually.

Coming forwards, John looked around at the multitude of books, brows raised high as he moved as quickly as he could to the lowest shelf, a pair of stairs leading to a landing with even more books, ladders climbing upwards to even more books. John had never really been a bookworm, but he hadn't seen an actual book in at least five years. With a slightly quivering hand -he wasn't sure if it was from excitement or pain- he picked out a blue, hard-cover book, leaning against the shelf to touch it carefully, flipping it open and carefully letting the pages skim over his fingertips, putting his finger beneath a sentence, flipping a page, and reading another one. He wondered if people still wrote books these days. Did they have vampire writers? Or vampire actors for shows for that matter? So many questions raced through his mind as he picked out another book, and another, until he was suddenly surrounded by a fortress of them, piling around him as he settled on the floor, comfortable with his current position that didn't agitate his ribs all too much as he read through a book carefully.

 

Greg felt a touch of heat rise to his cheeks as Mrs. Hudson made a noise at the two. Greg pushed Mycroft away so he could put more biscuit into his mouth, grinning. "I'm going to eat all of these in one go and then I'm probably going to vomit all of these up and it's going to be glorious," he explained with his mouth full of cookie, spraying crumbs all over the counter and he slowly began to pile his hands and arms up with the dessert.

 

Sherlock stalked around the house for a little while, still annoyed at Mycroft and Greg. No, he didn't hate their kissing, if he was completely honest it was a fresh change, but it was his _brother_ for Christ’s  sake. And not to mention that dead-live relationships were frowned upon in their society. Sherlock sighed, finding the closest window and climbing out of it, scaling the wall on a mission to the roof. Maybe he could jump off again, see if it would harm him. It wouldn't, of course it wouldn't, but it was interesting to see how much stress his body could actually undertake and not crumble. He passed the window to the library, and peered in briefly when he saw the lights were on. He paused, and flicked the window, seeing if anyone was actually in there or someone had forgotten to turn off the light. He had tried to read every book in there in one night, but the absorbing of information had gotten boring quickly enough.

 

Mycroft let worry flash across his features, unsure if Greg was simply kidding or if he was serious. "I wouldn't suggest doing something like that...." His eyes followed after every cookie that the human placed in his arms, a gnawing worry for the health of the man easily taking over. He couldn't really help it- after biting into his neck so harshly, he couldn't think of anything other than his health and overall safety.

 

John worried his bottom lip as he read through a book, flipping the page, into the next chapter. He never thought that the mere feeling of a book, something so blandly familiar and once considered normal, could feel so oddly exciting. In the refugee camps, the only things to read were beat up old fairy tales that the scouts managed to get out from the bins for the kids down below, and the survive manuals that came with most things. It was all the same- don't get bit, don't get turned. As if it was that easy. Sighing, John rubbed at the still prominent punctures on his neck, wincing at the feeling of them. Well, he hadn't managed that.

 

Greg chuckled, placing one cookie in the side of his mouth. "The only reason I'm going to be vomiting," he said around the dessert, "is because I've eaten so many, not because I'm insecure about my weight," he said, nodding towards Mrs. Hudson as he began to make his way towards the door.

 

Sherlock sighed when no one came to check. He couldn't smell anyone, at least, not through the window and the whole library, so he'd probably have to go in and turn the light off. He balanced perfectly on the guttering with one hand and one leg wrapped around the guttering, and managed to push the window open and pull himself through it. With the window out of the way, a familiar scent caressed the vampire’s nose. "John?" He asked into the empty air, closing the window behind him.

 

"Exactly why I'm worrying. You'll probably be both sick and conscious of your weight if you eat too much. Do restrain yourself." Mycroft was secretly pleased that Greg enjoyed his apology so much, allowed a twitch of a smile to appear on his features.

 

John looked up, trying to look beyond the mound of books that had been set up around him from his space on the ground. When had Sherlock gotten here? John hadn't heard him come in, though he barely ever heard the vampires move. Really, the only indication that they actually moved was the small swish of air that went past. Feeling slightly uneasy, John curled up a bit further into his own space. "Sherlock," He called in response, focusing further onto his book.

 

Greg stopped by the door, frowning. "So... Fine." He said, but showing no inclination to leave any of the cookies behind, "but I'm bringing all of these up to my room. And you can't stop me," he added, exiting the door without smiling because if he smiled the cookie would fall out of his teeth.

 

Sherlock wandered towards the pile of books and stopped, frowning slightly. "Why are you not in bed?" He asked, genuinely curious. He would sleep if he was John, because of the ribs and the stress, and yet here the blond was.

 

Rolling his eyes the tiniest bit, Mycroft briefly wished he had some form of glamour to persuade the man to do otherwise, though quickly decided those were definitely not good thoughts to really think, simply huffing and following after Greg.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really anything to say this week... I got a baby pig? No one cares Sarah shut up they just want the update.
> 
> Okay. Here it is...  
> ENJOY XX

Looking up at the other, John subconsciously flicked his eyes down to the white patch over the bruise before bringing them back up to met Sherlock’s own red gaze. "I needed to get out.....I'm not very tired anyways." He'd gone without sleep longer before- he could do it again. Pain wasn't much of a problem either, so John reasoned that he was fine enough to walk somewhere instead of just laying on the bed.

 

The walk to the room was quite slow, because the desserts were stubborn and kept trying to fall out if he walked quickly, and Greg was far too stubborn also, and would not give any to Mycroft to take. "You know," he said after a little while of silence, "I wish sometimes you were human so you could do human stuff with me." And that was a very true statement. Greg believed Mycroft would be a very interesting human, and a lot of the time, the butler just wished for a ‘before the vampocalypse’.

 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Fair enough," he said slowly, not missing the humans fleeting glance at his own ribs. "Would you mind some company? I am at a loss for what I should do for the rest of the darkness." He waited patiently. If John didn't want company, he would go up to the roof again and fall off.

 

Mycroft let out a hum, eyes narrowing just an inch in thought. It would be excellent to be human again- to not have to feed off of others like a common parasite, to be able to sleep, and eat, and do things that had once been so commonplace for him. It was so strange- how much things had changed over the centuries. "If I were human, I would have died at least two hundred years ago." He said in a casual sort of way. "Though yes... it would be nice if I... were able to do human things."

 

Looking over the vampire, John gave a small nod. "If you want to stay, then stay." He said in a rather simple tone before looking back down to his book.

 

Greg raised an eyebrow. "Two hundred. God... Does that make me a toy boy?" He asked, and having reached the room he had decided to sleep pushed it open with his hip. He let all the cookies land on the dresser, and they fell out in a rush. Greg put one in his mouth with a little nibble, turning to Mycroft. "Two hundred?! Wow," he drew out the last word, tilting his head.

 

Sherlock sat down on the exact spot he was standing. He watched John’s eyes going along the page, and it was quite interesting. Unlike the vampires own, those bright blue eyes could easily be gauged out. Sherlock frowned. What had his eye color been? Blue... He was sure, and Sherlock tugged his bottom lip. "What color were my eyes?" He asked to no one, crossing his arms.

 

Mycroft frowned, coming towards the man and taking his shoulders in a relatively light grip, turning Greg to face him. "You are no such thing," He reassured, shaking his head. "If anything, I'm more like the old geezer of this relationship." His hands slid down from Greg's shoulders to his hands, allowing himself a small smile that revealed just a bit of his sharp teeth.

 

John quirked a brow slightly as he looked up from the book, frowning slightly. "Hm..." He was actually taking into consideration. What would his eyes have been before the bite? Certainly something to match his demeanor. "Blue, probably. Icy." He said simply before looking back to his book.

 

Greg put the whole cookie in his mouth before Mycroft touched his hand, smirking with his mouth full at the vampire. He chewed thoughtfully, before swallowing and replying. "Of course, super old, with your wrinkles and grey hai- oh wait." Greg tilted his head, smirk still in place.

 

Two brows shot up. Icy blue eyes. He was sure that was what it was. "Yes," Sherlock muttered, watching John with a minor amount of interest. "Yes I think they were." He nodded, lying down. "Thank you." The vampire said quietly, counting the tiles on the ceiling that would have been hard to distinguish if he were human, seeing as they were so far away.

 

Mycroft raised a brow at the vague mention of his own youth, allowing himself a smirk as well. "Ah- I'm afraid the gray hair would belong to you." He teased. Again, the thought that he would live on while Gregory would die came to mind, though he swept it away. Now was definitely not the time.

 

John watched Sherlock carefully for a moment before setting the book aside, picking up another and skimming through it, mostly just feeling it before setting it aside as well, picking up one after the other after the other.

 

Greg gaped dramatically at the vampire. "I look amazing with 'silver' hair thank you very much," he said, twisting his hands in Mycroft’s grip so he could lace their fingers together. "Imagine me as a vampire though. I'd be so sexy." He pouted and leant on one hip, posing.

 

Sherlock sat up suddenly, jumping up. He hadn't sat on the supports by the ceiling before. The view of the library would be amazing. "I'm just climbing to the ceiling, don't mind me," he chuckled, skidding to the closest ladder and lithely scrambling up. He stood at the top of it for a moment, quickly planning a route to the top.

 

Mycroft chuckled at the man’s ridiculousness, though didn't disagree. "No more than you are now." He enjoyed this- this lightness of everything. It was much better than documenting the trafficking issues, or reasoning with diplomats, or simply talking to people who were useless, stupid, or were simply irritating as a whole.

 

John looked at the vampire with wide and eyes furrowed brows, frowning deeply. "Why- what are you-?" He tried to shift around just a bit to see up towards the other, though quickly stopped himself before he could bring further pain to his ribs.

 

Greg chuckled, but they faded away when they were over taken by a huge yawn. Greg turned his head away from Mycroft to cover it in his shoulder, and then turned back, smacking his lips with deliberately heavy lidded eyes. "Bed time do you think?" He asked, stifling another yawn.

 

Sherlock swung along the side of a shelf, dropping down a couple to laugh at John. "Why not?!" He called, using just his arms to hoist himself up to the top of the shelf, to which he crawled upon, into the small cavity of the top of the shelf and the ceiling. He waited there for a moment, calculating the distance from here to the awning. It was quite a way to where he could actually balance, but he could probably... Sherlock pulled himself so he was hanging off the shelf again, and began swinging himself, fingers leaving indents in the wood. He flung himself and pushed off the shelf at the same time, causing him to go too far and miss the awning by far. Sherlock felt himself falling after his arms didn't wrap around the beams like he wanted and he swore just as he began to correct himself. He tried to land on his feet, and was able to crash into the floor in a cloud of dust on his knees. Sherlock sniffed as he stood. "Almost," he snapped, ruffling his hair out of his eyes.

 

"Yes, bed time would be good," He held in a chuckle of his own as he took Greg's shoulder, being gentle to led him towards the bed. The urge to shove down was gone this time as he laid the man down on the bed, coming to the other side to lay next to him, arms around the others waist as he held him to himself. Perhaps it was a possessive sort of thing, or perhaps it was simply protective, but Mycroft found himself at peace knowing that Greg was safe, right there next to him. Bringing his head onto the others shoulder, he kissed the man’s neck in a loving sort of gesture, though still felt as though it was also a gesture to continue his apology.

 

John practically squawked at the sight of Sherlock falling, trying to push himself up somehow to get to him. His instincts as a doctor immediately kicked in, his mind racing to try and figure out what would break and what would, what would be bruised and what wouldn't be. Of course, that stopped as soon as he realized that this was a vampire, though he still had the urge to check him over. "Jesus-" John shook his head, worry in his eyes for no particular reason. "Are you alright?" He knew he was alright, yes- that was quite clear. But he couldn't help but ask. John was used to having people fall and break their backs, or necks, or legs or arms- not have people fall and just curse themselves for not falling in the first place.

 

Greg wriggled in Mycroft’s grip, grumbling about things being as 'stiff as a board', but in a caring sort of way. He decided it would be good to have a vampire to hold in the summer, seeing as it would be his personal cooler, but winter would be a different story. Luckily for him, it was autumn, and the temperature of his partner was neither here nor there. He kept wriggling for a while, just to annoy Mycroft, and to make it worse, he moaned. "Myyyyc," he said in a childish voice, "can you get me a glass of waaaater?" He bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing.

 

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at the human. "Oh John," he said, placing a hand over his heart with a grin, "I didn't know you cared." He chuckled. "Of course I'm fine," he brushed off his clothing, continuing with his hair combing. "You on the other hand..." He stepped forward, seeing the lines of tension on Johns face. "Either sleep or sit back down."

 

Mycroft let out a soft huff, eyes closed as his face twisted with clear annoyance, seeming to hug Greg closer to himself. "No- I'm comfortable, and you're comfortable, and you're not getting up until you're well rested." He said, putting his head closer to Greg's neck, nuzzling beneath his jaw. "Now be quiet and sleep."

 

Struggling slightly, John moved back down to the ground, trying to shuffle back into his formerly comfortable position. "I'm sitting," He grumbled, as if annoyed by the fact that Sherlock was telling him what to do, even if it was a good thing. "It's not my ribs that are going to be the problem when you give me a heart attack. I'm not exactly young." And really, he wasn't. His own mortality was something he had long accepted, and it wasn't exactly like being next to people who lived forever would suddenly make him younger.

 

Greg huffed again, but then chuckled. "You're such a bossy person," he mumbled quietly, on the off chance that Mycroft wouldn't hear him. "I'm going to sleep leave off," he snapped, relaxing into the bed more. He let his eyelids flutter shut.

 

At this Sherlock frowned. "Yes, you seem to be very old, but you can't be older than thirty." The vampire crossed his arms. "Maybe if you stopped worrying so much you'd feel younger." Sherlock didn't like the fact that more than one if his friends could catch a disease and die at any moment, when he would continue on forever. He'd have to ask Mycroft how he dealt with it over the years.

 

Mycroft loosened his hold once he felt Greg relax, breathing in the others scent carefully. It was one he had grown quite fond of, smelling of the something outside- trees and grass, the crisp, coolness, calmness after a rainfall. He let another kiss fall onto the others neck, gentle and cold before he settled.

 

John sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry- being thrown around between vampires who want to kill me isn't exactly something that helps with stress." He grumbled, trying to find another book.

 

Greg yawned, and let his mind slip into darkness. His final thoughts before he fell into the abyss sounded strangely like, 'Please I don't want to see her....'

 

Sherlock nodded solemnly. "Vampires are terrible for that whole self image thing." He casually flicked his hair in John’s direction as he sat down. "Being perfect and all has its downsides." Sherlock pouted dramatically, but it dropped off into a neutral expression as he glared softly at the floor.

 

John flicked his eyes upwards, narrowing them for a moment before letting them fall back down to the words. "I would hardly call your kind 'perfect.'" He muttered under his breath. John could barely even think of the creatures as perfect, really. After seeing them snarl and snap, fangs bared, hands raised to strike. He couldn't even think of them as a 'good', really.

 

Sherlock nodded. "I was being sarcastic," he drawled, sitting down where he had landed, not really caring about his clothes. "We're barely anything more than animals," he stated matter-of-factly. "Controlled by instinct and ravenous hunger. How noble," he curled his lip.

 

"You know our last 'argument' started like this," He pointed towards Sherlock. "And ended like this." He nodded down to his bandaged ribs. "I don't think it would be a good thing to start it over again. Though I do agree with you." He added as a side note.

 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes but nodded. He decided to change the subject. As he settled himself down onto the probably cold floor more, he said, "Did you see if I got anywhere close to the support beam? Because if I did I might try again..."

 

John looked up to the ceiling for a moment before shaking his head. "I don't think you got too close." He shook his head before flipping onto the next page. John would have liked to look for a 'Dracula' book just to mock them, though he had seen the burning piles before. The vampires had taken most media things and practically demolished them into nonexistence, burning books and tearing to shreds franchises so that their names would barely even be remembered.

 

Sherlock’s expression was one of someone who was extremely offended. "Not even a little close?" He asked incredulously. He frowned, a small growl building in his throat. He had spent a lot of time (figuratively of course, time was nothing to an immortal) getting to the roof, and John was telling him he was no where near his intended destination? "I'm sure I could have got onto it if I pushed a little harder with my feet..."

 

"I wouldn't really try," John looked over to him once more, shaking his head. "The next time I probably am going to have an actual heart attack."

 

Sherlock arched a brow. "Wait, did you just admit to worrying for me?" He smirked. "The immortal monster man? John I'm flattered." He gave a small genuine smile. "I'll try not to put you through that."

 

John looked him over for a moment before letting out a small huff. "I'm worried about you because you're an idiot. People tend to worry about idiots cause they do idiotic things."

 

A scoff echoed throughout the library. "I'm an idiot," Sherlock repeated, though he loathed doing so. He wasn't offended, of course not; it was just interesting to see John have such gall. "If I'm an idiot what does that make you?" The vampire replied rather childishly, successfully stifling a chuckle.

 

"Something close to a bloody genius compared to you, that's what." John felt his lip twitch upwards once before it fell into a flat line once more, letting his gaze shift up to Sherlock as he finally let the left side of his mouth move up just a bit.

 

Sherlock looked at the human with a mock offended expression. "I have an intelligence that spans ten million topics, I can play the violin and the piano, I can speak fluently in one trillion different languages." The vampire chuckled. "You are not a genius."

 

John looked up, shrugging his shoulders. "I'd like to think that I am." John Watson was a genius in his own right. He only knew three languages, had a medical schooling, and an average schooling, but that did not make him suddenly any less smart- any less important, than Sherlock. At least he thought so.

 

Sherlock rolled his head to look at the human. "You know I was only joking," he stated, crossing his arms. "I'm sure you're perfectly genius." He frowned. That didn’t really make sense. Oh well. "I was also exaggerating." The vampire had to make sure that the human knew that his sarcasm was rather hooded and hard to see.

 

John began to decidedly try to ignore the other, not very much liking his sarcasm and exaggerating words. He really didn't need the snark right now. Flipping the page over, John sniffed slightly, settling comfortably amongst the books. It was good here, he decided. Quiet. Safe. Not that he didn't think other parts of the house weren't, but they were always a flurry of movement- too many people, not enough space, not enough air. Suffocating. After being cramped into rooms were others nearly needed to walk on top of you to get through, it was hard for him not to feel just a but uncomfortable.

 

Sherlock gave a rather childish huff, not used to being ignored. And he was the vampire! He shook himself. Such petty thoughts were pointless. He grumbled despite himself, getting up to trying and find something he hadn't read before. "What would you recommend?" He asked, not really expecting an answer.

 

John let out a thoughtful hum, looking around the stacks of books before handing over one. "Moby Dick." It was probably something that the vampire had read before, but John had always enjoyed it for a reason unknown to himself. He'd read it quite a lot as a kid, and supposed it was something that was nice because it was familiar.

 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, bending down to pick it up. It seemed familiar, but it didn't pop up in his mind. He read the blurb, judging it quickly, and, upon deciding it would be alright, sat back down. He opened it, quite intrigued. If John recommended it, it probably was an alright book. Immediately he noticed the way it was written. Very old way of doing it. Sherlock smiled slightly, shifting to get comfortable.

 

John got comfortable there, reading, though the words became blurred as his thoughts drifted elsewhere. Even if he had broken his rib, Sherlock was an okay sort of guy. At least he was quiet right now- perhaps they could get along. Perhaps. John flicked his eyes up to the other just to see if he was reading. "Is it good?" John questioned in a soft tone, eyes half lidded in a more relaxed way than a tired one.

 

Sherlock looked up. He was already past the first five chapters. Sherlock curled his nose slightly. "I assume that the whale eats him and he gets out?" He replied instead of answering. Yeah, it was good, and Sherlock enjoyed the way it was written. "Because I'll probably still read it even if that does happen." Sherlock smiled slightly.

 

John clucked his tongue, the edge of his lip curling into a small smile. "You'll have to find out- I'm not giving you spoilers." He shook his head. He wasn't sure what he was really reading. It was thick all the same, a bit gory- something about thrones, he wasn't sure.

 

To spite the human, Sherlock kept eye contact as he flipped to the last few pages. He gave a sharkish grin, eyes flicking down for two moments as he took in the pages. His grin changed into a smirk, as he tilted his head. "Aren't I just so brilliant?" He asked rhetorically.

 

John rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes. Brilliant." He scoffed in a light manner. "You shouldn't just skip to the last page- you've got to read the story to actually enjoy it." He huffed.

 

"Boring," Sherlock drawled, though the smirk was in place. "Unless a book is good reading through-and-through there's no point in trying to find out what happens."

 

"I sort of just like reading through the actual book- some of us can't just guess the exact ending." He muttered, though it was mostly because his voice was just absent because he was angry.

 

Sherlock immediately noticed the line in John’s shoulders tense, and the vampire jumped quickly to correct himself. "Apologies," he said quickly. "I didn’t mean any offense, it's just," he paused for a moment, thinking about how to word the next sentence, "it's just that I've been around longer." He shrugged. "Books become predictable." He gave a small smile, hoping he had somehow made up for his mis-wording. 

 

John looked up at that, a small bit surprised that he was actually apologizing for it, though nodded all the same. "Yeah- I get it. Must get a bit boring- well, really boring, actually." John looked down at the book before closing it, brows furrowing as he looked to Sherlock properly. "Is there still TV going on these days? I mean- I think you would have killed most of the actors of TV shows, but still." He shrugged his shoulders. It was a curious sort of question; what had remained the same over the time John had been hiding out and in the trafficking ring?

 

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Sure, of course television is still going. When you have nothing to do with your life, and each day there's multiple stories that you can take pleasure in watching. And if you have a recorder, which many do, you tape many programs and you can spend your whole life in the fantasy worlds other people have created." Sherlock have a disdainful sniff. "I personally don't hold any taste for the vampire actors. Some human actors are still around, running secret art circles when they can. Rather desperate and boring to be completely honest." Sherlock shrugged. "Only my opinion though."

 

John’s brow furrowed slightly, trying not to notice how his insides twisted slightly with the others words. _Boring_. People at least trying to keep alive some form of human culture that was actually from _humans_... was boring. He didn't show it on his face of all, of course. "Just asking a question about it. Seems better to distract myself rather than with books." Distract himself from the world around, of course. Just for a second, he'd very much just like to forget it. Forget that the bloody things had taken over nearly the entire world, forget that he was a pet, property, and food for once....just forget it. Though TV probably wouldn't be the best if distractions, really. Vampire actors and all.

 

Sherlock nodded tightly in reply. "Yes well, there isn't too much to distract myself with. Mostly music. But even that gets dull." The vampire stood, sensing the tension in the room rise slightly. "I assume I've said something wrong, and for that I apologize." He let out a small unnecessary breath. "I'll leave you to your reading. And erm, there's food in the kitchen if you get hungry." He nodded again tightly, feeling slightly awkward. He couldn't say anything right it seemed. The vampire left the room in a blur, sick of the feeling of not knowing how to deal with something.

 

John watched him go, brow furrowing before he looked back down to the books. He read for another twenty minutes before his stomach growled, and the man sighed as he tried to lift himself up, only to fail rather miserably and wince with pain. He tried several more times, and found himself efficiently stuck.

 

Sherlock made his way to his room, deciding to pass the time with some trance resting.

 

Molly was wandering around the halls still, cleaning up dust and dirt with a slight scowl on her face. She still felt cheated over loss of intimacy. She made her way to the library, and saw that John there. She was tempted to just keep walking, leave the man where he lay, but she didn't. He was a fellow human after all, and they needed to stick together. "Looking lonely," she stated, walking forward and twirling her duster.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you just hate it when you clock an app and get all the things and then they UPDATE?! Same...
> 
> Speaking of updates... (segue of the year)
> 
> ENJOY XX

John had given up fully, laying down on the floor and staring up at the ceiling. "Just a little." He mumbled, letting out a sigh. "Help me up, would you?" He put up a hand.

 

'No', Molly wanted to say. "Sure," is what she ended up saying. She walked over, grabbing John’s hand and pulling him up a lot more roughly then probably needed. "What are you doing up here?" She asked, tone kind despite her feelings right now. "Shouldn't you be in bed resting?"

 

John sucked in his cheeks for the pull, not wanting to let out the pained yelp that had threatened to escape his lips there and then. "I _should_ be, but I'm not. It's... I needed something to do besides lay around in a bed for hours, you know?" John gave the tiniest shrug, wincing the tiniest bit at the feeling that brought his ribs. He could sense something was definitely currently off about Molly. He just really couldn't tell what.

 

Molly smiled and gave a pretty giggle. "Then let’s get you off to bed silly!" She said, fluttering her eyelashes. "You go around not being able to get up and wincing at every movement." She started walking, turning around and waiting for John. If he was asleep, he would leave Sherlock alone. If he was asleep, he wouldn't cause trouble.

 

John smiled, though he still felt something off about the whole thing. Something was a bit wrong here- he just couldn't tell what. "Thanks." He nodded in thanks, gripping his side lightly. "Mind showing me the way? I don't... I don't really know this whole place very well, you know?" Mostly, he was just too prideful to say that he was afraid he would fall again, and no one would he there to help him.

 

Molly smiled. "Of course." She waited until the blond was walking next to her, and then she turned to him. "So are you going to be staying with Sherlock or with us? In the workers quarters?" She kept her tone light and kind, and she was keeping a slow pace, so John wasn't in pain.

 

"In the worker quarters, I think." He nodded his head a bit here. Honestly, he would prefer it a bit, though if Sherlock wanted him to- wait. What. No- he wouldn't do what Sherlock wanted him to do!

 

Molly nodded. "Of course. It won't take long to get there." She turned a corner, and looked to the side. "So are you enjoying being Sherlock’s personal?" She asked, and was proud of herself that she was able to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

 

"He's... a bit much to handle," And he was. Jumping off of everything- he was going to be the death of John. He wasn't even joking- Sherlock would most likely be the thing to be John’s end. The next time they got into an argument, it could very be his head to receive a whack like that, and John was sure that a possibly dented skull or the like wouldn't be something he could just limp away from.

 

Molly giggled. Stupid man. He didn't know perfection when it was right in front of him then. "You get used to his... Eccentricity very quickly," she said almost reassuringly. "I did." She gave a warm smile.

 

"Really?" John raised a brow, hand reaching towards the wall for a small bit of support here. "I don't think I'll ever get used to it, honestly. I mean, he seems like a nice guy, when he's not being a total arse, 'course."

 

Molly's eyes narrowed slightly at that. "Sherlock Holmes is a child," she said, using the same tone as before. "He is very ignorant." It wasn't an attack on the vampire, more a plain statement of fact. "If he remembered what it was like to be human he wouldn't act like he does." She let the smile creep back onto her expression. "He tries his best to be kind like his brother; it would be good for all if you kept that in mind."

 

Again, John senses the off-ness in the woman, brows furrowing for a moment before he thought, looking down at the ground. Well, he _was_ going to be here for possibly the rest of his life, right? Probably best to actually play nice with the vampire starting now. "Could.....could you start leading me towards where he is, actually? I want to talk to him," And really, he actually did. Not growl or ignore- actually talk.

 

Molly blinked now. She hadn't wanted John to want to go see Sherlock. She had just wanted him to see that he wasn’t all bad. Damn. "Of course," she said pleasantly, voice slightly tighter now. She turned abruptly, 'accidentally' slamming into John. "Goodness, sorry," she hurried, putting her hands on John’s chest. "Are you alright?"

 

John let out a sharp hiss at the feeling of his body being jostled; clutching his ribs a bit tighter. "Fine," He breathed out, nodding his head, not wanting to make Molly feel bad. He tried not to think that she may have actually done it intentionally.

 

Molly looked at the sapphire eyes, as is she was searching for lies, and she brushed her hand slowly over John’s chest. "I'm really sorry," she said quietly, moving to his shoulders and brushing then off with a light touch. She gave a hesitant smile, and then started walking again, more slowly, waiting for the blond. "Sherlock will be in his room, it's this way."

 

John nodded his head, hobbling slightly as he went along. "Right- thanks," He nodded his head, still slightly glad that the other was still leading him to Sherlock.

 

Molly flicked her gaze to Johns face, smiling slightly. "So... Is there anything..." She hesitated, biting her bottom lip, "Between you two?" She asked quietly, color touching her cheeks. Luckily it could be mistaken for embarrassment instead of the well of irritation that had actually caused it.

 

John’s eyes widened considerably, and he shook his head. "No- god no." He was quick to say, mostly because there wasn't, and he really didn't want Molly getting any of those kinds of ideas. He was straight- he knew he was. And Sherlock was....Sherlock. Sure, John could tell he was trying to be nice, but....but just- "He's not really my type. He's a nice bloke, sure, but-" He shook his head. "And besides, I don't know about a single human that would go around 'being with' a vampire." Of course, he was still unaware of Greg and Mycroft.

 

Molly let out a little cough. "Don't say anything bad in front of Greg and Mycroft then," she giggled, slightly annoyed that John hadn't seen the biggest relationship in the household. "I think human and vampire relationships show others that supposedly impossible things can work." There was a touch of longing in the murmur, and she blushed.

 

John blinked slightly at that. Greg and Mycroft were...? No- it wasn't- he was-? Well, apparently, -or at least what he was going by Molly's words- he was in a relationship with the vampire. He raised a brow slightly at her tone, blinking several more times as he deciphered it. "Do you... do you... like Sherlock?" He questioned, though tried not to sound nosy about it.

 

Molly stopped walking. "Excuse you?" She asked, voice going up an octave. "What gives you the right to ask that kind of question?" She narrowed her eyes slightly. Was she that see through?

 

Alright then. He definitely must have seemed nosy. Taking a step back from the woman. John raised an arm that wasn't wrapped around his ribs in innocence. "Sorry- I just thought-" Nope. Don't say it- just shut up now. "Never mind. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you mad."

 

Molly's eyes were slits. "No, please John, finish that sentence." She tilted her head slightly.

 

Well- John could tell he had screwed himself over rather nicely. "....I just thought.....how you said that and- you know, how you get....defensive about him and all..." This definitely wasn't good. Honestly, she looked about ready to possibly strangle him, and John wasn't quite ready to die just yet. He was sure he could find Sherlock's room on his own, if he could edge away fast enough to actually be able to find it. But for now, he stayed in his spot, shifting from foot to foot as he looked at the other.

 

Molly’s hands had found the way to her hips. "You're rather unobservant John Watson," she started simply, letting her arms drop and starting to walk again. "I could say the same to you, you know. You stay even after all he's done to you." She let out a small huff, turning her head. "No, John, I do not like Sherlock." She had said this lie so many times. To herself, to others. Now it slid out easily, like it was the truth.

 

A small bit of pink came to his cheeks at that before his hands curled into fists, expression tightening. "It's not like I can leave," He muttered angrily under his breath. She acted like it was a conscious choice for him to remain here. It wasn't. It never had been. Rubbing his temple, John closed his eyes and sighed heavily through his nose, shaking his head. "Look- I'll find Sherlock on my own, okay?" He then began to hobble past Molly, feeling frustrated and quite angry at the moment, trying to cool down.

 

Molly stopped walking again. "Oh... alright." She needed to get back to how she was acting before John didn't want anything do to with her. She pouted slightly, stammering an apology. "I- I'm sorry I didn't mean to snap. I just, it took me by surprise." She ran a hand through her long hair, biting her bottom lip. "I hope your meeting with him goes alright." She ducked her head, cheeks coloring with supposed shame. It was really irritation but John didn't need to know that.

 

Looking down for a moment, John stopped, sighing and turning around, hesitating before coming back to her and gently putting a hand on her shoulder. "Look.....you don't have to apologize for that. It was....I shouldn't have asked." He offered her a smile, expression softening as he forcibly squashed the anger that had been lit there.

 

Molly replied with another small smile, nodding. "No, alright, we're even. Now go find the vampire." She gave a quiet laugh, putting her own hand and Johns for a moment, before dropping it. "Be safe okay?" It tasted wrong to say such a caring statement, not mean it, and Molly felt a sliver of guilt twist her stomach.

 

John nodded his head, smile growing a bit brighter. "I'm sure I'll be able to handle myself." He waved a hand, letting his gaze linger on her for a moment before he moved away, back down the hall. It wasn't too far of a walk to Sherlock's room, though it was taking John longer than he would have liked, considering he was hobbling at a horribly slow pace, and he got lost at least twice. Finally coming upon the vampire’s room, John peeked inside, giving a small knock. "Sherlock?"

 

Molly let out a small huff, deciding to go to the laundry and iron some clothes. She could stand John then, she decided, now she knew there was nothing between them.

 

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open. "John?" He asked, sitting up straight backed, much like a mummy from an old movie, but much more graceful. "Do you need anything?"

 

"No," John shook his head, hobbling in and wincing as he slowly drew himself down into the nearest seat, trying not to agitate his ribs all too much as he kept a hand lightly pressed to them. "I just...." He looked at the ground before rubbing his temple lightly. "....I wanted to start over. With you. I know we...haven't exactly gotten along, but-" He shook his head. "Just...." John sighed, wishing he were better with words before he stuck out a hand. "John Watson." He greeted, as if Sherlock were someone new to him. Hopefully Sherlock would get the gist of what he was trying to say.

 

Sherlock tilted his head. Interesting idea. He moved to where the human was sitting. "Sherlock Holmes." He took the hand and did one slow shake of his, dropping his hand to his side so the absence of warmth in the appendage didn't freak the blond out. "What happened to your chest?" The vampire asked, accompanying the sentence with a lopsided smile. He moved back to the bed and perched on the edge of it.

 

John looked down at himself a small bit before looking back to the vampire. Honestly, the coldness of the others hand hadn't bothered him- he'd actually become used to the lack of warmth, actually. "I was walking with Molly- she bumped into me a bit." Well, he used the word 'bumped' rather lightly. The woman had practically slammed right into him.

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "She's a mess," he said with a small laugh. "Possessive and probably crazy. She flicks between moods like channels." He shook his head slightly. "I apologize on her behalf." He settled more onto the bed.

 

John frowned slightly at that, though said little against it. Molly didn't seem so much possessive and crazy as opposed to defensive and a little bit crazy. Just a little bit. "She's nice all the same." He shrugged just a bit, settling back into the chair.

 

Sherlock shrugged. "Or a good actor?" He smirked. "No, I'm only teasing. She is very loyal." The vampire watched John for a moment, a frown creasing around his eyes. "You're in pain." He stated, a small amount of worry lacing his tone.

 

"A broken rib'll do that to you." He sounded more sarcastic than bitter here, allowing himself a weak, but soft chuckle. "But....I'd rather forget about pain right now, you know? Let's talk about something else." John raised a brow as he quickly spied around the room. "When did you and Mycroft even start here? No offense, but this place seems a bit ancient."

 

Sherlock thought for less than a second. "The manor has been in my coven for years. Countless, probably around Beethoven, possibly before." He shrugged dismissively. "Not really important." He grinned suddenly. "And saying no offense before saying something that might be offensive it does not stop it being offensive." He smirked slightly and kept his tone light, to hopefully not be rude.

 

"Beethoven?" John blinked before shaking his head, knowing he shouldn't have been so surprised by that. These vampires were probably a hundred years old or so- definitely shouldn't have been a surprise. "Sorry....I was just a bit curious. I just didn't want you to think I was calling you ancient."

 

Sherlock raised his brow. "I'm fifty, all my coven is older than me by years, and my coven in general has been around since the Middle Ages. We've spread out all over Europe. This manor has belonged to us throughout that time, for vampires that go mad. So that's why we're here. Apparently compassion for the living is not right." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's a compliment to be ancient nowadays. Especially with coven fights breaking out and groups decimating each other before they can grow old. They behave like animals."

 

John blinked slightly at that. So, this was where they went when they were mad? That seemed rather awful, honestly. "Yeah... 'compassion' doesn't seem like a thing your kind seems to very much like...." He said quietly, more to himself than Sherlock. "And what even _is_ a coven? Some sort of....house of vampires or whatever-?" He waved a hand rather vaguely.

 

"Coven is extended family. Of the undead. Like a pack, but rather a little more viscous. Mummy is the leader of the Holmes coven but she's in France at the moment, and Mycroft is Alpha here." He shrugged. "Don't have to much to do with them, seeing as all they do is politics. Boring." He let out a small breath. "But we stick together. Many-a-vampire want to over throw the royals, so connection and loyalty is key."

 

John nodded his head in understanding here, looking at the ground for a moment. "....why do you-" he started the question, ended it, an started again. "Why do you treat humans nicely?" He wondered aloud. Honestly, the main reason he didn't like Sherlock, and why he was angry at him, was because he was confused. Why was he _nice_? Why wasn't he biting or snapping, whipping his back and breaking his bones? It was what John had become used to- so why wasn't Sherlock one to participate in the normality of it all?

 

Sherlock froze at that. He... Had many-a-reason why, but after about a minute of sitting completely still, blinked and brought himself back to real life. "I'm only fifty. Young, and... unknowing. But... I remember. Everything." He took a small breath, eyes already far away as he danced within his memories. "What being warm was. Kissing someone and not wanting to rip out their throat. A heartbeat." He shuddered, memories going sour quickly. He focused on the human now, expression solemn. "Having a heartbeat is something I miss most, and both my brother and myself never want to take that from anyone." He waited a moment, before he gave a small cough. "And that is why." He put on a small smile, trying to lighten the suddenly dark mood.

 

Blinking slightly at that, John looked down. That was a....that was a very good reason not to kill someone. Not to hurt them- not to hurt humans. Not to _want_ to hurt humans. John licked his lips a small bit, tongue darting out for a moment. "You've kissed someone before?" He questioned next, hopping to another topic. "Sorry- you don't seem like it. But maybe that's just me. Not that you're not a handsome guy. Just-" He shrugged, seeming to finish the sentence with that as he settled back into the chair a bit.

 

Sherlock grinned now, the newly formed ice cracking and melting away. "So surprised John," the vampire chuckled. "But yes, I was rather... Successful in my endeavors," Sherlock put lightly, leaving out excess details on how both sexes fell to their knees when he flicked on the charm, and how many different noises he had elicited from both parties in his short life time.

 

"Really?" John grinned himself, crossing an arm just lightly over his chest. "So, fifty year old man's got game then." He stretched his legs out in front of him, seeming just a bit more at ease. He hadn't had a good shag himself in.....quite a long time, actually. There hadn't been time for things like that in the bunker, not really, and certainly not in the trafficking. He would have possibly been sick if he'd tried it there. "So, what? You got all mysterious and charming and not bratty and everyone was just flicking to you?" He took his arm away from his chest, instead leaning to the side and placing his head on his fist.

 

Sherlock shrugged slightly. "Pretty much. But I try my best to not do that anymore. People possess a fragility that I was once equal to, but now it is not the case." That caused his lips to turn down slightly. "Though Molly is pining, despite my best efforts to turn off my cold handsomeness." He pouted for a second, but let it drop. "What about you? Before all-" he waved to himself and the air around him, "this, how did people act with you?" He put his hands out, a placating gesture. "If you don't want to answer that's completely fine also."

 

It made John internally shudder- the fragile part. He hadn't really thought about it before, honestly, though now it was at the forefront of his mind. Vampires were strong- extremely strong, actually. Sherlock had literally just pushed him on accident and broken his rib, and honestly, John could only imagine what would happen if a vampire lost control during something like that. Shaking the thoughts away, John grinned, shrugging a bit. "I'll answer- it's fine." He said. "People acted....normally around me, I guess. I mean, it's not exactly like I'm overly handsome, and I've noticed that women do like a man who's taller than them." His shortness was honestly a curse- he couldn't reach high shelves, or see past a crowd- it was quite awful. "I suppose I was pretty 'successful in my endeavors' too, despite everything."

 

Sherlock smirked, but it dropped off quickly. "I apologize that my kind probably hindered your endeavors some," he said, gaze flicking to the ground. He didn't want to be on this subject. "Did you bed men or women?" He asked, genuine. After all, the gender of a person did not faze him or a lot of his kind actually, having no lord above denying it, and if there was, none cared enough anyway, seeing as they were all damned to hell anyway.

 

"Women," John said with a nod of his head before he let his eyes drift to the ceiling. "There was this one time though when I got drunk, and I think I might have had a shag with a guy, but still." He was mostly just rambling here, deciding not to think on Sherlock’s words. Honestly, this situation probably not slightly hindered his endeavors. Humans these days were desperate for one another, in both an emotional and physical sense. When the rooms had been bigger, or they'd been bunched up in cages, it wasn't exactly uncommon to see two people -a man and a woman, a man and a man, a woman and a woman, it hardly mattered- having at it. John had always decided to ignore it.

 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "'You think you might have'?" He smirked slightly. "I don't think I have been inebriated enough before that I think I might have." He gave a light chuckle. "So you're not against same sex couplings?" He assumed, tilting his head. It seemed obvious enough.

 

John shook his head. "No- they're fine." He didn't have a problem with them, no, just had never thought of himself in one before. Though honestly, he supposed it hardly mattered at all.

 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes but left it at that. If John wanted to lie about his sexual orientation that was fine with him. After all, the body doesn't lie, and Sherlock had seen the way Johns pupils had dilated, how he had become slightly more agitated, as if he were ready to jump someone. Maybe he didn't notice himself, and that was fine too. Sherlock smiled, as if there was a joke only he knew about. "I would have asked if there had been any coitus recently in your life but I doubt that very very much." He watched to see how John would react, rather intrigued.

 

John’s expression hardened just slightly, eyes steeling and defenses being put up. "It wasn't like I had the time. Trying to protect people who were just going to die anyways didn't give room for that." He shuffled before his body coiled and tensed, rubbing a hand over his face. There had been one instance, of course, when he'd gotten into that, though he had locked the memory away into a darker corner of his mind that was never to be touched. They'd done more than whipped and beat him to humiliate him, after all. It had only been once though- John had made sure it had never happened to him again.

 

Sherlock froze, suddenly feeling somewhat sheepish for bringing up the topic. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, and he didn't know what for, but anyone with such shadows behind their eyes needed some sort of sympathy. The vampire quickly changed the subject. "Next topic," he murmured, before his eyes lit up slightly. "What's your favorite animal?" He gave a small smile, trying to rid the room of the heaviness it had just accumulated.

 

Raising a brow at the next question, John brushed off the thoughts, locking them as well as he thought for several moments. "....I'd have to say a hedgehog." They were nice sort of creatures that could just curl up into nice little balls to protect themselves. That would have been a fairly nice feature to have. "Yours?"

 

Sherlock snickered, and took a breath to stop himself laughing. "I want to say bat, just to be cliché, but no, I'm going to say wolf." Majestic, strong, gorgeous. If people didn't like wolves they didn't understand a perfect creature. Sherlock paused, "Now it's your turn to ask a question." He said, tongue darting out to touch his bottom lip.

 

John pursed his lip in thought, letting his eyes roam around a bit. "...What's your favorite... color...?" He supposed now was a good time for stupid little questions rather than serious ones. He could definitely go for some stupid questions.

 

"Red," the vampire replied immediately. "But not for the reason you think..." He added quickly. "Before my main food source was changed, my favorite color was red, because it is the embodiment of the most intense emotions, love and anger. That's why it's my favorite color. What about you?"

 

"Yellow." He answered with a nod of his head. "It's going to sound really, really stupid, but mostly it's because it's the color of the sun." The sun- an object which he had been denied of for a rather long time. Even now, what with most of the curtains closed and him being so used to sleeping during the day to meet with the schedules of vampires, he hadn't seen it. The trucks provided little to no light, and whatever crack there had been to show the sky, or the sky, had usually been hogged by someone else desperate to have it touch their skin.

 

Sherlock could only imagine how long it had been since John had seen the sun, felt it on his skin. Quickly, Sherlock calculated the time. "If you're quick," he said, looking at the human, "You can open the curtains and catch the sunrise," he said, nodding towards the window. He wished he could feel the sun warm him without it hurting. It didn't harm him fatally, more it stung unpleasantly, like a burn. Obviously. "But you'll have to be quick," he urged, nodding towards the window again.

 

John needed nothing more than that, honestly. He scrambled towards the window, undoing the latch and throwing back the curtains eyes widening at the sight. The sun was just coming over the horizon, the night fading away with oranges and purples and yellows and pinks. The clouds looked like soft cotton, or perhaps tufts of cotton candy just lazily floating by. The sun, large and warm and welcoming, slowly ascended upwards, it's light slowly making its way through. John, eyes wide and mouth parted, was nearly out the window as he watched it, holding up a hand to feel the first rays of sun just coming through, almost trying to catch it on his fingertips. The light tickled his fingers with a light kiss, John letting out a breath as he watched. It was... god, it was beautiful.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna use the c-word but also I don't want to...   
> updaaaate and c-word
> 
> ENJOY XX

Sherlock winced as the light played over his skin, gritting his teeth but not saying anything. John’s expression was priceless. Like it was Christmas come early, his birthday, and every holiday right in that moment. His eyes were glittering, he looked so happy. The vampire looked down at his arm, like marble, and let out a silent breath. "John," he said, standing so he was in the shade, finally sick of feeling like he was charring. "Let's go outside," he added, smiling slightly.

 

John turned at that, blinking as he got himself out from the window and more into the room. "Outside?" Honestly, it was impossible to believe that the man who had snapped and growled at the vampire earlier was the one standing in the room right now, considering John currently looked more like a child than anything. The soft light of the sunrise made his face look far more tender, eyes wide and shining with hues of pink and orange. He smiled brightly before frowning a small bit, brows furrowing. ".....won't you burn?" He questioned with a bit more than just concern. Yes, he wanted to go outside, but he didn't want Sherlock to char.

 

Sherlock shrugged. "I won't die." 'I want you to feel the sun against your skin, you look so happy. But the Adlers are probably still prowling, and I don't want you taken from me,' "I'll stick to the shade." What a pretty skin color. Sherlock smiled, sweeping his arm in the direction of the door. "Hurry up, while the sun is still weak it won't be as difficult to avoid." His hair was blonder in the light. "Come on!" Sherlock, said when the human hesitated again, huffing and walking out the door, expecting the man to follow him.

 

John hurried after him as best as he could, hobbling just slightly and keeping his hand fixed on his ribs, though with the thought of fresh air, the outside and all, it didn't hurt as much as he supposed it should have. He now honestly felt like a kid rather than just looking like one, smiling as broadly as he would allow himself. He was silent for several rather long moments as they walked before looking up to Sherlock. ".....thank you." He wasn't sure exactly what he was thanking him for. John was more so just grateful he had gone to the vampire rather than just back to his quarters- this was much better than probably just lying in pain.

 

Sherlock inclined his head slightly in John’s direction. They got to the stairs, and Sherlock answered after some thought on why he was actually doing this. "I wouldn't want to be locked up inside all day like some sort of animal," he said somewhat quietly. After all, to other vampires humans were nothing more than cattle, and deserved no more attention than stray dogs. But that's not how it should be. "I would hope I would be treated with kindness had our roles been reversed," he said plainly, getting to the front door and nodding to the worker who opened it for him. That must a boring job, he thought idly, standing around all night in case someone were to walk through. Sherlock let out a slight hiss of pain as the sun touched his face, but he refrained from any other noise, quickly ducking into the shade and watching John instead of wallowing in his own pain.

 

Honestly, John felt childish for how he reacted. When he'd first been brought here, he'd been swallowed up in his own hatred to take in the fact that he had been outdoors, but now? Now he was practically relishing it. At first, all he could do was stand there and watch the sunrise which was slowly becoming simply the sun in the sky, soaking into the sight, the warmth before he got on his knees slowly, staring at the ground and bringing a hand down, touching the grass, feeling the morning dew moisten his fingers. He'd been in the trafficking for two years, but the underground safe house? He'd been there for ten. Ten years underground, only seeing the light of day several times, too afraid to come to the surface. But it was just so damn _beautiful_. Tears -he couldn't even believe they were tears- welled in his eyes as he looked at the green of the grass, the blue of the sky, the yellow of the sun, and the white of the clouds. Only a few tears dripped down his face, though he refused to let anymore come down as he reached out, eyes wide as he gently touched at the petals of a stubborn little daisy that had decided to shoot up in the grass there. He probably looked very, very crazy, yes, but he couldn't give a damn to care.

 

Sherlock wished he had felt as happy as John looked at any point in his life. Like a blind man seeing the sun again. Which is he pretty much was. Sherlock let a smile tug at his lips, but he felt jealously curling evilly in his gut. So, instead of ruining the moment, he stayed in the darkest part of the shade, in the cold, in the darkness, where he belonged, while the light sparkled off John’s hair, in the warm, in the light. Exactly how it should be. Human, vampire. Sun, shade. Warm, cold. Polar opposites.

 

John watched the sun for several moments longer, sighing in relief as the warmth washed over him properly, the clouds, seeming to know that they shouldn't, didn't step in the way of the sun, simply letting it shine down. Of course, then he remembered that Sherlock would possibly be slightly burning at this point, beginning to struggle to his feet when he saw the flash of.....something in the corner of his eye. Of course, his brain immediately translated 'something' into Irene -he'd managed to catch the name as Mycroft had snarled it out before- and John quickly hurried towards Sherlock, hesitating before grabbing his arm. He wasn't scared, of course- merely wary. John was honestly vulnerable at the moment, considering he couldn't even manage to fight without having to keep a hand on his ribs.

 

Sherlock almost started as John came to him. Why had he moved? Sherlock scanned the area without being informed of anything. Nothing unimportant would have made John move, so it was something at least a little important. Upon not seeing, smelling or hearing anything, Sherlock looked down to John. "You okay?" He rumbled lightly, ears still listening out.

 

"Yeah..." John let his eyes dart around, grip tightening slightly as he watched the area carefully. "I....I thought I saw something...." It was far safer over here; he knew -or at least hoped- that if he was out there and an Adler did show up, then Sherlock would come in no time, but he couldn't help but be unnerved. "Just- I'm going to watch things from here." He let go of Sherlock’s arm, instead settling on the ground carefully there, watching the world from there. He didn't think for a second this was how Sherlock would always have to see the world.

 

Sherlock frowned slightly. "Go into the sun John, I'll be right here." And he would. This blond was wanted; it was obvious by the way Irene had acted. "Enjoy the moment." He smiled now, bobbing down to be at John’s height. "That's why I brought you down." It was amazing how easily the vampires senses could be amplified by wanting to protect. He could hear every leaf, smell every statue. When he had been younger, it had been quite overwhelming. At least he was used to it now. "Go John, before I bring you out there myself."

 

Blinking up at the other, John nodded his head, getting to his feet and moving back into the sun, the light, the warmth. He simply looked up for several moments, just watching the sky before he moved elsewhere, eyes widening as he saw a tree that wasn't at the lining of the very woods, but instead planted for shade there. Going up to it, John touched at the bark, running a hand down the trunk and not minding the sight of several ants crawling around here and there as he touched it. The air was a bit chilly, yes, though John didn't take too much notice. Actually, he didn't even know it was autumn. Seasons and dates and times had been irrelevant to him- there had been no need to have them. What was the point? Today was just today, yesterday was already survived, and tomorrow was just another step ahead towards death. Yes, very morbid sorts of thoughts, but John wasn't going to kid himself and think he could last forever like these vampires could.

 

The vampire traveled quickly through the light, getting to the tree and jumping up it. He perched in the branches, watching John, and smirked. He looked pleased, but also troubled. He hooked his knees over the tree, swinging down and looking at the upside down John, knowing he could sit like this forever, with no blood running to his head. His curls swung slightly as gravity pulled at them. "Is something bothering you?" He asked politely, letting his arms flop down too. Acrobatics were fun, or they had been, when his advanced abilities were a novelty. Now... It was almost dull.

 

John blinked at the sight of Sherlock hanging upside down like a bat, before shaking his head. "No- it's just," He rubbed one arm almost sheepishly, looking down. "I.....I don't know what today is. The date, I mean. Or even the time." He paused before looking down. "Honestly, I'm not even sure what year it is." John had speculated that, at the very least, though it was hard to remember what seemed like a passing winter and what seemed like a passing summer anymore. Honestly, he could have been in the trafficking for five years and he wouldn't have even known, more or less guessed. He was sure he'd gotten his estimate right for the time he'd spent underground, but John could hardly be sure.

 

"6:54am fourteenth of October, it's a Wednesday, year 2020." The vampire rattled off, still watching the human with shining red eyes. He was tempted to show off and do a flip, but decided against, and hung there simply.

 

John took in the information. 2020? So- he was right about the years then. Good. Well, not very good, but whatever. October....winter would be coming soon. John wondered if he would be able to see the snow. He wondered if it would burn his hands with bitter cold, melt on his tongue, soak into his skin. "Thank you." He nodded his head, chipping a bit of bark away absentmindedly.

 

Sherlock shrugged, smiling slightly. "No problem." He swung back up, grabbing onto the branch and flipping down. His arms went out behind him as he made his way down, and he let go when his feet almost touched the ground. "Would you like a tour of the manor grounds?" He asked softly, concerned about Johns expression. It was far too distant.

 

Watching the little given show, John gave a small nod of his head. "Yeah- sure." He smiled slightly, not a hollow smile, it just wasn't all too wide or broad. Still, it was bright, because John actually was still happy. He was outside, after all-he could hear birds beginning to call out their morning tunes, flying around as they sang, and John smiled just a bit wider as he looked up to see one perched in a branch, fluffing and ruffling its feathers.

 

Sherlock followed Johns gaze and smiled also, recognizing the bird and whistling slightly. The bird’s eyes flicked to the vampire, and it flitted down to a closer branch watching intently as if waiting for something, chirping before finding something more interesting and flying off. "Cute things. Trust quick enough if you give them enough bread." He smirked slightly, watching it flit off.

 

John watched it go, envy crawling on his skin. Wouldn't it be nice, to be able to fly. To be able to simply get away from things with a simple flap of wings and pulse of air. John shook his head slightly to get the thoughts away, instead looking to Sherlock and raising a brow. "So....touring the grounds?" He began to amble off slowly in a different direction before stopping, turning back to Sherlock. "Wait- how much land do you even have?" He questioned, tilting his head to the side slightly.

 

"Our coven owns a lot of land. In total, we own one thousand acres around us, but just around the manor, ten acres of lawn. Mostly out back." Sherlock shrugged. He hesitated slightly to follow the human into the sun, not keen on getting stung, but moved after a moment to the edge of the closest statue and pausing in the shadow. "It's a rather boring story about everything, I just thought you might look around." He explained as John walked up to him.

 

John felt foolish for going out to the sun, coming back to Sherlock's side and gnawing on his lip before going over back to the doors, calling something to one of the men for something. It took around two minutes for them to retrieve it, John hobbling back slightly and holding out an umbrella for Sherlock and offering a smile, hoping it would do.

 

Sherlock faltered. He hadn’t thought about getting an umbrella. "Thank you," he murmured quietly, slightly in awe at the human. He should have thought to bring an umbrella out, yet the human had thought of it first, and had though of it for him. The vampire opened it, feeling a little like Mycroft. "You want to look around or...?" The vampire asked, still blinking slowly at John.

 

"Yes," John nodded his head, smiling as he stayed just outside the shade of the umbrella, happy despite everything that was currently going on at the moment. He wasn't being ignorant about everything, of course- he was aware he was still a slave, he was aware that he was basically stuck here. "And you're welcome."

 

"You didn't have to get it," Sherlock murmured, starting walking around the statues slowly. Some of them looked like Sherlock in the sunlight, or more... They're skin looked like his. They were old too, but clean, and Sherlock ran a hand over them, smiling slightly.

 

John looked over the statues before shrugging lightly. "I know- I just didn't think you'd like to burn. Looks painful," he said absently as he ran a hand quickly over the curve of one statues shin before moving on, one hand playing with the band of his pants, the other still wrapped loosely around his side.

 

"That may be so but it's only that. It's not like it actually harms me." Sherlock shrugged. "It would be like an albino living in the middle of Australia, without the skin peeling business." He gave alight chuckle, looking over to the blond for a moment. "I've experienced and lived through worse definitely," he murmured after a moment, mind going back to when he was turned. Many people's hearts stopped in the first few moments of the turning, the pain too overwhelming, but the others, well, it was obvious what happened to them.

 

Brow furrowing at that, John knew it best not to try and provide comfort- it would either be possibly ignored, or come out wrong. "I know.....but....it still doesn't look as though you'd want to go about in the sun all day long." He shook his head, wincing slightly as he bent down to pluck up a little growing diary, twirling the stem between his fingers, grinning before he plucked up several more, fingers absently working the stems together as they walked. It was a mindless act, and a ridiculous -and quite frankly useless- sort of thing to do, but John couldn't currently care as he looked at the side of the Holmes' manner before out to the forest beyond. He wondered vaguely if there were still safe houses out there- if people were safe. Or at least close enough to something that could be called 'safe'.

 

Sherlock gave a small nod, looking at the human as he absently wove a daisy chain. "When you're done do you want to make me one?" he teased, looking down at the human with a light hearted smirk. He looked so troubled, John did, and no matter what Sherlock did he couldn't make that look in John’s expression disappear. They had made their way through the statues now, and Sherlock was now leading them to the gardens behind the manor. The Vampire hoped John liked them, seeing as Mrs. Hudson spent all her time on that garden, tending the plants and weeding and all that was related to keeping a garden.

 

John looked up, a bit unsure if Sherlock was actually being serious or not, though simply nodded with a smile and went back to weaving the stems through each other, tongue poking out of the side of his mouth before he made a slightly strange crown of flowers, happy with his work before he came a bit closer to Sherlock, taking his shoulder in hand. "Stop." He commanded, waiting for the vampire to actually halt before reaching up on his toes, taking the hand away from his ribs and trying not to wince as he brought his arm up slightly, and placed the crown of daises on the others head. They stood out rather brightly amongst the raven curls, John taking a step back and nodding his head, his smile seeming a bit brighter with the sight of the vampire. He had said he was royalty, didn't he? Certainly that meant he had to have a crown of some kind.

 

Sherlock froze at the command, and grinned as the flowers were put atop his head. He brought his hand up slowly once John was standing flat foot, smiling as he felt the petals beneath his sensitive hand. "There we have it," he rumbled, "Actual proof that the outdoors turns John Watson into a twelve year old girl." He smirked at his own jibe, though his eyes were focused on every wince that John was producing. "Well, Ms. Watson, you're going to like this garden." They rounded the corner of the home and Sherlock paused, letting John see the garden. Mrs. Hudson had spent her years finding out what flowers bloomed through the year, which ones thrived through each season, and they spread out evenly, petals opening as the sun touched them. A hue of every colour was showing itself, and the sight made Sherlock's smile widen.

 

Turning only slightly pink, John huffed at the comment, though his focus went to the garden rather than to give some sort of remark. This.....this was much better than simply the grass. God- it was....it was wonderful. Beautiful. He moved forwards, eyes still wide and a rather dumbstruck expression on his face as he moved through the rows of flowers, mouth opening and closing as he tried to find some sort of word. The flowers greeted him, opening up slowly but surely, preparing for another day. John could have sworn he saw them almost stretch up to the sun- or perhaps to John. Or perhaps he was just going crazy. The latter seemed rather possible. Not minding the bees -bees were fine compared to other things he had handled, and they were hardly scary- John sniffed, the perfumes of the different flora around entering his nostrils. A small birdbath was currently being occupied by two small, fluffy little birds, ruffling their feathers and chirping happily with the tranquility the garden seemed to provide. "This.....this is...." John murmured under his breath, though hadn't a clue as to how to finish the sentence at all.

 

Sherlock came up behind the man. "Beautiful, unusual in such a place? You can pick." Sherlock wished for a moment that he could stand in the sun and feel its warmth. Feel warmth in general. He took a small step towards the human without thinking, so he could feel the heat radiating off him. The vampire made sure that the umbrella didn't cover the human in shade. The birds had been joined by others, and they were having a little bird bath party, chirping and having the best time. Sherlock stepped away from John and chuckled. "It's a nice day," he murmured, looking around him. He actually hadn't been outside in a while, he hadn't had a reason to.

 

John hadn't noticed the vampire behind him, far too enthralled with the scenery around to even realize as he looked over to the bird bath, carefully making his way over and reaching into the pocket of his pants. On instinct, he had saved a bit of bread that had been given to him- it was a habit to harbor and hoard food that he couldn't help but stick to. Ripping it into smaller pieces, John made them into crumbs, holding out his hands and coming a bit closer. One of the birds fluffed its feathers in interest, letting out a tweet before it fluttered over, perching on John's thumb to peck at the food given. Now, this elicited the clear excitement from the others, and soon John near to had a whole flock of little birds in his hands, a few even chirping on his shoulders as he giggled -he would never actually admit he giggled, but it certainly wasn't a chuckle or a laugh.

 

Sherlock let out another small whistle, which a black bird mimicked easily. That laugh. That giggle, actually, to be more precise. He wanted to hear it again. The little black bird came and sat on the curl at the bottom of the umbrella, watching Sherlock as if waiting for something. So Sherlock whistled again. And then the bird did it back. It was entrancing. The back and forth started easily, and Sherlock froze almost completely as he watched the little creature follow his voice.

 

Giggling - _not giggling_ John swiftly reminded himself- as the birds began to simply take interest in John himself, a few birds becoming a bit too friendly and settling on his head and crowding on his shoulders, John turned back to Sherlock, raising a brow at the sight if him going back and forth with the black bird. The sunny little birds on his being took no mind of the vampire or the other bird, a few giving soft little pecks at his ears that didn't hurt all too much, John getting out some bread to appease them. "Having fun over there?" John questioned, two birds taking residence on his head while several flew off his shoulders to eat at the crumbs.

 

Sherlock looked up, breaking the connection between him and the bird, causing the black creature to join in with his kin on John. "Are you?" The vampire retorted, shaking his head at the birds. They had become far too take once Mycroft and him had moved in, they never harmed the birds ever, and Mrs. Hudson adored them, feeding them treats often.

 

"As long as none of them shits on me, then yes." The black bird thankfully did not settle on his head, but rather his shoulder, John putting one of his arms down to hold his side as the other held out for the birds. "They're rather friendly." John commented with a grin, looking around at them all.

 

Sherlock shrugged lightly. "Well, Mrs. Hudson likes the birds, so I should expect they'd be friendly, seeing as she feeds them all the stale bread when we have it." John’s ribs were still sore. He needed painkillers. "Would you like something for them?" The vampire asked, nodding his head in the general direction of John’s ribs.

 

John was confused for a moment, pursing his lips and furrowing his brow before his face lit up with realization, and he nodded his head. "Oh- yeah, that'd be good." He smiled slightly, though his expression became slightly annoyed when the bird atop his head was practically trying to nest in his hair.

 

Sherlock smirked. "Okay, don't move. Imagine you're a tree or something." He let out a chuckle, before putting the umbrella down, wincing for a moment and taking off. After all, if he ran at full speed with an open umbrella would probably break it. Sherlock made it to the kitchen quickly, of course he did, finding the painkillers and choosing two. Then he rushed back outside, picking up the umbrella and putting it over his body, holding his hand out flat for John to take.

 

He remained still enough, shaking his head a bit to get the birds off. He blinked when suddenly Sherlock was there again, not even three seconds after the vampire was there. Looking at the pills, John didn't mind that there wasn't any water to take them with, instead swallowing them dry. "Thanks."

 

"No problem," the vampire replied, twirling the umbrella around in his hand. "Okay, so let’s get those birds off you and keep wandering around hmm?" Sherlock offered, smiling at John. He wondered how long John would stand there, if he hadn't been prompted to leave.

 

John nodded his head, shaking himself off. The birds flew off of him with a small, alarmed chirps, settling elsewhere. Looking around at the garden, the man sighed for a moment before he looked back to the other, raising a brow. "So, what else have you got out here? Besides gardens and statues and birds and the lot?"

 

"Wolves in the forest," Sherlock drawled in reply, but it morphed into a pleasant tone as they walked. "We have a paddock of horses further along this way." He shrugged. "Because what kind of royalty are you if you don't have horses?" He snickered slightly. These creatures had been taught to be nocturnal, it had been a little challenging, but what was the point of vampires owning horses if they couldn't ride them during the night? Sherlock had his own of course, and had been riding the same one for two years now. He loved the horse running beneath him, he felt more... Alive when he was riding almost. Though he hadn't done it in a while. The more John stuck around the more the vampire realized how lazy he actually was.

 

John faltered slightly at the 'wolves' part, wondering if he was being serious or not, though simply shook it off as nothing and went after Sherlock. "I haven't ridden a horse in....." John ran a hand through his hair, happy that the pain was slowly beginning to dissipate. "...god, I don't even remember." Animals were becoming good company, now that he thought about it- they couldn't talk, so that was good, and they simply wanted affection, and they were quite good listeners. Definitively good company.

 

Sherlock nodded. "Would you like to?" he asked as they came up to the fence, clicking his tongue to wake up the shining black horse standing in the middle of the paddock. The horse was not fazed by the umbrella, and shook his mane as he came up, bringing its face to Sherlock so the vampire did not have to go into the sun. "Hey boy," the vampire greeted, rubbing his hand delicately around the horses head. It had taken a few days for the horses not to bolt at the touch of an undead, but now they welcomed it. "Sorry I haven't been around much." he smiled, and the horse nibbled slightly on the vampire’s hand.

 

John came forwards, looking over the horses, who whinnied and snorted at the sight of the man- it was obvious they knew he was alive by the way they trotted over curiously, snuffing and sniffing around. "I'm barely even sure I remember how to." He shrugged a bit, raising a hand as one of the horses, a creamy colored one with a darker splotch near its hind leg, came up, cautious and hesitant before it brought its fuzzy, soft lips towards his hand, as if expecting there to be a treat. Chuckling softly, John stroked the horse’s snout, smiling gently at the creature.

 

"That's Greg's horse," Sherlock informed, taking his hand off the midnight horse in front of him to speak with John. "I'm pretty sure they wouldn't be too hard to handle, seeing as they just woke up." The majority of the six horses were just wandering around, pausing to look at the men but otherwise not fussed by their presence. "I wouldn't ride, of course, but I could watch from the sidelines to give you tips and make sure you don't injure yourself." The vampire smirked slightly, "Also, Greg's horse is the smallest, so that's good for you."

 

John looked over to Sherlock with a small glare and a huff, though it was more in a good natured way than anything. Giving the horse a small pat, John turned to Sherlock, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his pants. "So- where's the saddle?" He questioned. He was sure he still knew how to fit the horse, and certainly at least mount one.

 

Sherlock grinned now. "Oh no no, we don't have saddles here. We ride bare back or not at all my friend." His gaze flicked down to Johns fingers for less than a second; he probably would have blushed if he still had blood. He shouldn't be glancing down at John’s waistband at all ever. "And I can find you some reigns if you are _that_ out of practice that you can't hold a horses mane."

 

John didn't notice the small glance, instead focusing on the fact he'd be riding bareback. He hadn't ridden a horse in forever, but how long had it been since he'd actually ridden without a saddle? "I'll manage without reigns." He waved a hand before letting it return to play with his pants a bit, needing to keep his hands busy. He wouldn't admit that he couldn't do it- god no.

 

"Don't look so worried," Sherlock reassured, clicking his tongue and causing Greg's horse to look at him. "Her name is Belle, she's very nice and she won't do anything you don't want her to. We only chose the best horses." His own horse, Arthur, realized he wasn't the centre of attention anymore, and snorted, walking back into the middle of the paddock where the other horses were. Sherlock made Belle line up with the fence, touching her face delicately and smiling down at the human. "Climb on the fence then onto her, I have her, she won't move, so don't worry."

 

Nodding his head, John climbed up on the fence, making sure he himself was stable before he swung his leg over the horses back. It felt slightly strange, and honestly he felt like he was going to slide off, though kept steady enough. "I'm good." John pet Belle's mane lightly before gripping it, looking around at himself.

 

Sherlock made sure to stay by the fence as he started walking. He clicked twice with his tongue, starting the horse at a slow walk. "You'll need to be a little more relaxed John," the vampire offered, seeing the tense line in the human’s shoulders. "She's not going to bolt, and you won't fall. I'll be there to catch you if you start to okay?"

 

Swallowing a bit, John nodded his head in acknowledgement, though was mainly watching the horses neck. He let out a breath, calming himself as much as he could as Belle walked, straightening up and trying to look as though he knew what he was doing- he did know, of course. He was just a bit rusty with the knowledge.

 

Sherlock nodded slightly. "You're doing well," he praised, smiling now. He moved away from the fence now. "Just move her mane slightly if you want her to move in either direction. Click twice if you want her to speed up, once for her to slow down, and then pull backwards at the top of her mane if you want her to stop." He stood still, watching carefully.

 

"Alright," John nodded his head to Sherlock, getting himself relaxed before he clicked his tongue, the horse starting in a mild trot. He steered her around a bit, simply getting the hang of it before he went faster. John barely noticed the wide grin that had spread over his face as he trotted around rather proudly, clicking his tongue again to make her go a bit faster, a small deal of excitement coming from the speed.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> right i'm working on starting or finishing stuff up to get stuff posted so yeah... keep an eye out for that
> 
> ENJOY XX

John seemed to have got the hang of it, Sherlock decided, sitting down on the top of the fence so he could watch. With his free hand, he carefully took the daisy crown from his head and peered at it. A prince with a crown. Sherlock snickered to himself, placing the daisies amongst his curls once more. John was a natural at horse riding it seemed.

 

John went on proudly for another few minutes before he felt his side ache slightly, and not wanting to push it, he stopped, hopping off of the side of the horse -a slightly awkward endeavor, but when that managed all the same. Stroking the horse’s side, coming up to her face, he smiled softly as she nudged into his hand. "Good girl," He said quietly before moving away, back to Sherlock. "I think I did pretty well." John leaned against the fence where Sherlock was sitting, flicking his eyes up to him with a smile.

 

Sherlock waited a moment before replying. "You did rather amazingly seeing what you've been through and the fact you're injured. Also, Greg will be pleased to hear his horse has been ridden." Sherlock hopped onto the right side of the fence. "Yes, very well done." Why was there pride pooling in his chest? John was not his, and feeling pride when the human did something well was not mentally sound.

 

Grinning, John managed to rather awkwardly get over the fence, one leg at a time before he brushed himself off a bit and came to Sherlock’s side. He suddenly gnawed on his lip at the mention of the silver-haired butler, looking to Sherlock. "About Greg... is he... are he and Mycroft... you know," He tried not to sound so awkward about it, but was failing rather miserably. "Together..?"

 

Sherlock’s lips twitched. "Why yes they are," he replied in an amused tone. "Though... Not sexually yet. With the loss of his wife now apparent I don't think Greg'll be jumping Mycroft anytime soon." He shrugged slightly. "It's their choice, I don't really mind. All they had to do is keep it a secret when our kind come over. They wouldn't take too kindly to it." Sherlock started walking a slow pace back through the gardens. He had no where he needed to be right now.

 

"Why?" John asked rather stupidly, though he already knew the answer. He wasn't sure why he asked, he just felt the need, honestly. Why was it so terribly awful to be in some kind of relationship with a human? Why did they _just_ have to be slaves, and not friends, or partners, or lovers? It didn't make sense to him.

 

Now the vampire’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. "By that response I don't think you'd believe me if I told you that it was love." He frowned slightly. "Are you opposed to vampire-human relationships?" He asked, genuinely curious. Sherlock didn't think John would be, thought he'd be all for any type of love in this dreary day and age.

 

John shook his head. "No- no, I'm not- I'm not saying 'why' to that... I'm asking _why_ to the fact that they have to keep it a secret." He explained, looking at the other sheepishly.

 

Sherlock thought for a second. "Amongst your kind this kind of thing happened a lot." He thought back to the human history books he had read in the library. "Imagine, in the 1800s, a white man falling in love with a black woman. Or in the 1900s, a person falling in love with someone of the same sex. It's the same circumstance here, and vampires believe themselves pure and wonderful. The better species. You fall in love with a human; they get the honor of joining the army of undead. 'How dare you let them live. How cruel'." The vampire shrugged slightly.

 

John wrinkled his nose slightly at the mention of vampires apparently being 'pure', 'wonderful', and 'better', though did nothing more than that. Ah. So that was why. He should have been expecting that a bit. He licked his lips suddenly, looking to Sherlock with uncertainty. "Greg and Mycroft... they're not going to- Greg's not going to... turn into one of you, is he?" He questioned, playing with his waistband a small bit more nervously now as they walked.

 

Sherlock glanced down at the human. "I don't know. I don't believe Mycroft would put Greg through that, but if it was something Greg wanted and he was able to convince my brother then it would be very possible." He tilted his head. "But it would take a lot of convincing I think."

 

John nodded his head a bit before looking to Sherlock, almost hesitant to ask another question. He had been asking quite a lot, actually, and felt a bit sheepish about it now. "Are you... do the two of you... you don't like turning people?" He phrased the question as best as he could, though another one was quickly forming in his head at the moment. He pushed it aside, rather embarrassed he had even thought of it, honestly.

 

Sherlock swallowed. "Is it that obvious?" he asked dryly. He shook his head. "Apologies. It's a touchy subject is all. No, we don't like turning people, despite how we should want to do so. Make the royal coven larger and more powerful." Sherlock let out a tired breath. The amount of times he'd been lectured about not having turned anyone. Mycroft got off lighter seeing as he had turned _some_ people.

 

That was a relief, really, though John frowned all the same. "I suppose that makes sense. Making it bigger." He shrugged, silent for several moments before he looked to Sherlock, swallowing a small bit. "Just....just a question- but- and I don't mean to pry. You don't have to answer if you don't want to. But... have you ever loved someone? I mean, you've had plenty of time to experience that kind of thing." He shrugged again, a seemingly reoccurring action.

 

Sherlock actually stopped, somewhat surprised by the question. He didn't want to think about it. No, not at all. But he supposed it would be common courtesy to reply. A flash of blond hair and bright green eyes surfaced in his memories, and the vampire shoved them down roughly. There was nothing he could have done. "There was..." the vampire murmured after only a moment. “But that was before the whole being bloodthirsty and everything. A long time ago." Embarrassingly, his voice actually broke. Sherlock covered with a sharp cough. He shouldn't think about old friends. Dead friends. There was too much time in the world to spend it dwelling on things that couldn't have been helped.

 

John heard the break in his voice, and immediately felt shame for asking such a question. Looking down, John swallowed thickly before flicking his eyes back to Sherlock. "..I'm sorry." He knew what it was like to watch friends die, but having the inability to die at all was rather… depressing. Going throughout the ages, making friends, and watching them pass like the blink of an eye was more than depressing, honestly. John couldn't even begin to imagine what it must have been like. He wasn't sure he wanted to imagine it.

 

Sherlock shook his head slowly. "Don't be," he murmured, straightening his shoulders and taking a sharp breath in and letting it out. There had been nothing he could have done, yet it was his fault wasn't it?

 

_"Jesus Sherlock just do it! I'll make it through the change."_

_"Fine, but if you die don't blame me."_

_"You know I won't."_

_"...Ready?"_

_"Yeah..."_

_"Victor... I love you."_

_"I'll say I love you too on the other side."_

 

_A small nervous laugh, which morphed into loud screams, hushed softly. Eventually the screams were silenced, but that was because Vic hadn't been strong enough. And it was_

 

His fault. Sherlock again took another sharp breath. Sherlock's mouth was curled into a pained grimace. He shouldn't have let the memories out. "The past is the past," Sherlock said in a hollow voice, again walking, but it was slow and almost aimless. He was dead; they shouldn't be allowed to feel.

 

He could see Sherlock grow distant for an instant, and saw the sudden pained expression that he clearly wasn't trying to show. John had become good at reading people- he had always been good at that. Clearing his throat a bit, John tried to get on another subject, not wanting to prod at this any longer. He shouldn't have even asked in the first place. "So... how many humans do live here? I'm assuming quite a few from the ones I've seen."

 

Sherlock blinked slowly, the human’s voice acting like something to hold onto and pull him out of a deep pit of water. "Actually, only about twelve. Mrs. Hudson does the same amount of work for about ten people, seeing as she doesn't sleep and has the ability to move a lot quicker than most." Sherlock shrugged, but the images at the back of his eyes were already fading, and his head was feeling lighter.

 

Only twelve? John thought it would have taken quite a few more, considering how large the manor was, though supposed with someone was handy as Mrs. Hudson it wouldn't have been all too much of a hassle. "And who exactly are the twelve? I've only met Greg, Mrs. Hudson, and Molly so far. Well, I'm sure I met the others- I just don't know their names."

 

"Molly, Greg, Mike, Sebastian, Liam, Harry, Sarah, another Harry, also known as Harriet, Clara, Tony, Steven, Barry and Mrs. Hudson makes the thirteenth. Twelve and one vampire. Mycroft was always for living with supposed 'bad luck'. Rumor has it that when he was human the only pet he owned were black cats. Oh, but now you're here it makes fourteen!" Sherlock snorted softly. "That must have ruined his plans."

 

He had actually stopped listening at 'Harry, also known as Harriet', freezing on the spot and staring forwards almost blankly for several seconds before turning his head towards Sherlock. "Harriet." That was all his mouth could actually just about manage to make right now, taking several seconds to collect himself before he managed several more. "What does she look like?" Yes, him and Harriet had never got on, and probably never would, but that hadn't meant he hadn't been terrified when they'd been separated in the trafficking, and that certainly didn't mean he wouldn't be ecstatic to find she was actually alive.

 

Sherlock stopped too, looking back at the blond. "Uhm, brown, curly hair. When we bought her it was cut short, right to her scalp, but she's grown it out and it looks rather pretty." He frowned. "She's rather defiant, likes annoying us by threatening to out our kindness but she never does." He raised a brow. "Do you know her?"

 

John breathed out slowly, nearly wanting to drop to the ground with some kind of relief. "She's my sister." He remembered her when they'd cut off her hair- that had been the first thing they'd done to chop off what individuality they had. John's had grown out, thankfully, and he'd managed to keep away scissors long enough for it to become this length.

 

John looked as if he were about to faint, and Sherlock put a hand out like he was going to catch him, but when the blond didn't hit the ground Sherlock stood tall once more, unsure how to continue. "Well, I should assume that you would want to see her?" He asked, not really sure if John’s reaction was one of a pleased variety or not. After all, it had been a while since he had been alive, he couldn't really go off old knowledge.

 

John nodded dumbly. "Yeah," Harry was alive. Harry was here. Either John was dreaming, it wasn't Harry, or this was some seriously nice twist of fate. "Yeah." He said again, echoing himself, still quite shocked at the revelation.

 

Sherlock did now place a cautious hand on Johns shoulder. He could guess how world shattering knowing your sibling was still alive. "I would have told you sooner, but she had never given us a surname." He informed, dropping his hand and walking slowly now, waiting for John to walk beside him.

 

John's legs automatically brought him forwards, looking at he ground. "Yeah- she's- she probably wouldn't do that. She's stubborn as a mule. Has she drank anything lately? Beer? Wine? Whiskey? Tell me she hasn't." He rambled, now looking to Sherlock with an almost pleading look, obviously hoping she hadn't.

 

Sherlock hesitantly put an arm around John’s shoulders, still afraid he would fall on his face. He didn't mention it, just did it without speaking. "Staff are not allowed to touch the alcohol in stock unless we allow it, though on the first nights we had her, we allowed her to lose herself in the bottle to get the drinking out of the way. After that, if we found her with anything we would threaten to give her to the Adler’s. She does not touch anything now, unless it is a special occasion. But then she drinks in moderation, like everyone else.

 

John sighed in relief, nearly falling over then, though was glad Sherlock had put the arm around him then. "Good. She... uh, she had a bad- it was a bad drinking problem, you know? Real bad." He continued to ramble, though now he wasn't even sure why. He'd just- he'd been sure Harry had died in there. "How long has she been here?"

 

Sherlock tightened his grip. "About four months. We got her from a pretty bad place. Oh and we know. She managed to down a whole bottle of whiskey before falling on her face. It was pretty impressive." The vampire gave a wry smile. "I couldn't even do that when I was human. She's better now though." Sherlock was tempted to actually carry the human; he was rather worried for the safety of him. He sounded like he might burst out crying.

 

Harriet Watson was completely sober. Yes she was. She had been for about two months now, after being caught with the drink on a Friday night, when her dreams about her little brother had been too intense, but Greg had made her promise. "No matter how hard it seems, you can get out of this, and I have, so you know it's possible."

The elder Watson smiled at the thought of the silver haired man, how he had made sure she was mentally stable before letting her out of the room.

It was a lovely day today. She hoped she got to meet Master Holmes' new helper today. It was always fun to tease the newbies, pull a face and give them frights. By the way she acted; you wouldn't have thought she was in her mid-thirties. She was sweeping the front entrance, staring at the statues. They had a sort of haunting beauty, and she liked them a great deal.

 

John didn't know whether to scowl at the fact that Sherlock called Harry's drinking 'impressive', though didn't, instead using the other for support. He looked down nervously. "Bad? What kind of bad?" He questioned. The place they had been before Harry was taken from him had been bad enough. He remembered clearly Harry getting a horrid flogging and several lashes for spitting out a curse. John had been on the ground next to her for trying to help her, and punching one of the handlers in the face. It hadn't hurt the vampire, of course, but it hadn't been a very nice sign of respect towards them.

 

Sherlock frowned now. "I would say it wasn't as bad as the Adlers but not as good as us definitely." He rounded the corner, ahead of the human and he froze, seeing said Watson out on the entrance. He pulled John back, taking two deep breaths for the blond. "She's just there, would you like me to warn her or do you want it to be a surprise?"

 

Harry was there. At the entrance. Right. There. "I-" He should warn her. He probably should. "Surprise." He wasn't going to, of course. John wanted her to be as surprised and stunned about it as he currently was.

 

Sherlock nodded slightly. "Alright then, she's just there, go on." He gave a reassuring smile, not planning on following the human so his reunion was private. He caught his bottom lip, worried for the blond, but kept the smile in place. He didn't know how Harriet would react, and he slowly took his arm away from the man’s shoulders.

 

John nodded his head, wondering how bad he actually looked. Would Harry care? Possibly. Maybe. He wasn't sure. Moving out from behind the wall, John actually almost fell over when he saw her. Harry. She looked- she looked healthy. Happy, actually. And she was- she was- "Harry...." He breathed, shoulders slumping, his legs seemingly frozen solid as he stood there watching her.

 

Harriet looked up, and blinked. She hadn't been drinking, the sun wasn't too warm, she shouldn't be seeing him. She had left him, her little brother. She had let them separate the pair of them. This couldn't be happening. Her broom froze as she narrowed her eyes. Stupid mind. John wasn't standing there. She tossed her head slightly, continuing to sweep the entrance. When she looked up another moment later, he was still there. Maybe he… No. It couldn't be. "John?" She whispered, leaning on her broom as she waited for the apparition to disappear.

 

John blinked when she returned to her work, shoulders slumping as she said his name. He came forwards, starting out as a walk, then into a jog, ending up nearly running to his sister as he embraced her, bearing the broom clatter to the ground as he hugged her rather tightly. "Harry."

 

He was running towards her. The apparition had never done that. "John!" She exclaimed, as he crashed into her arms. He was just like before, except he seemed healthier. "Oh my god," she whispered, picking him up slightly then burying her head into his shoulder. "How the fuck-" she pulled back and sniffed, wiping her eyes when she realized they were streaming. "What?" She asked, thoroughly confused as she cupped both his cheeks and looked at her little brother.

 

John had started crying himself, though his face had broken out into a wild, bright grin as he looked at Harry. "I don't even- I don't even know how- I- I'm just-" He didn't cry a lot. He didn't. But this... he was just- he was just so happy. Harry was alive- his sister was alive. "I thought you'd died. I thought- when they took you-" He began, his tongue twisting and tying and tumbling over itself, the rest an incoherent jumble of words and phrases and sounds.

 

Harry smiled. Everyone here called her Harriet, as if she didn't know what she wanted to be called, probably because the other Harry was actually Harry. But John, John would call her that. She pressed little kisses to her little brother’s cheeks. She hushed him, pulling him back into a hug. Her heart was so full she was sure it would burst. "Oh John, Christ I missed you," she held him as tight as she could, "I love you John," she blurted quickly, because if ever there was a time for those three words it was now.

 

John managed a quick, "I love you too", adding on a "jerk" at the end just for good measure. Of course, when Harry began to hug him rather tightly, his side gave a sharp jolt of pain, John hissing as he tried to pull back. "Harry- Harry-" He tried, pushing at her a bit before he managed to release himself. John put a hand to his ribs, rubbing it gently and wincing as the action only caused further pain.

 

Harry pulled back and frowned, running a concerned hand through her little brother’s hair. "What happened?" She asked abruptly, narrowing her eyes at John and eyes trailing over him as if making sure there were no more wounds that she could see. "Who did this to you?"

 

John rubbed his side a small bit more. "Well, Sherlock did- but it was just a misunderstanding." He shrugged. It had been more than a misunderstanding, of course, but that hardly mattered.

 

Harry's eyes narrowed further to slits. "Sherlock? As in Princey Ponce?" Her eyes were storming slightly. How dare the vampire _touch_ her little brother. And to go so far as to harm him? That was not okay with her. "Misunderstanding as in he thought he was right and lost his temper?" She asked, her tone kind but only there to hide the thick layers of a very icy anger.

 

John could easily see the boiling anger, though was trying rather hard to currently ignore it. "Yes... but he did say sorry. Sort of." John looked down at his ribs a small bit. That had basically been how it went, honestly, though neither of them had been right. Well, John had been sort of right, in a sense, considering how Sherlock had responded, but that hardly mattered.

 

Harry rolled her eyes. "Sure, whatever, that poncey brute tell you to say that?" She scoffed softly. "If you defend him then he's of a little worth." She shrugged, pulling John back into a hug, slightly more gentle now. "I'm just glad you're alive." Harry said quietly.

 

John placed his head on Harry's shoulder, sighing softly as he shut his eyes. He wasn't going to cry again- he would make sure he wouldn't cry again. "I'm glad you're alive too." He mumbled into her shoulder. And John was. He really, really was.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LATE MERRY CHRISTMAS OR HAPPY HOLIDAYS FRIENDS X
> 
> Update woo
> 
> ENJOY XX

Harry gave a terse nod. "Funnily enough," she started, pulling back to look at her brother. It was as if she would never want him to leave her sight again, she wouldn't allow it. "I’m happy I'm alive too." She grinned, ruffling John’s hair before looking up when she noticed a movement.

 

Sherlock had a weird feeling that he might be yelled at. As he rounded the corner he leant against the wall, almost jealously observing the ending of the reunion, the moment truly over when Harriet's eyes trained on him. The vampire gave a nod, and then waited to see what was going to happen.

 

"Do you think I should punch him?" Harry asked, looking quickly from brother to vampire. "Because it wouldn't hurt him, yet it would probably help me not be mad." She raised an eyebrow at the shorter man, wondering what his take on it would be.

 

John thought on it for several moments. Sherlock had been very nice to him so far, yes, but it wasn't like John had gotten any sort of payback. And it would be best for Harry to get her anger out now. "....do what you want." He raised a hand and waved it a bit.

 

Harry nodded and gave John a small slap on the shoulder. "Thank you," she said as she walked past him.

 

Sherlock stood straight as the female Watson approached him. She had a stormy kind of air of air around her, and despite the fact that a punch or a slap wouldn't hurt him, Sherlock tensed as If it would.

 

So... Harriet wanted to hit Sherlock. She really did. He had harmed her brother and there was probably no grounds behind his actions and there were actually lots of reasons she wanted to hit him. But as she approached into his space and he didn't even stand up for himself, Harriet found herself wrapping her arms his waist, burying her head into his chest. It was a quick hug, and she pulled back almost immediately with narrowed eyes. "I'm not going to forgive you for hurting him," she explained lowly, "but I sure as hell am grateful he's the one you saved." And with that, she turned on her heel and walked back to her brother, cheeks slightly colored. That hadn't really gone to plan but hey, it was better than injuring her hand trying to harm that marble statue.

 

Sherlock slowly blinked, taking in what had just happened. His lips twitched slightly, and then he leant back to the wall, feeling pretty pleased with himself.

 

John watched, preparing to wince for Harry's sake when her fist or palm would reach out to strike the vampire, though was fairly surprised when she... hugged him. Why... was she hugging him? That didn't make much sense- or maybe it did. Sherlock had, in a sense, brought them together again. If it had been any other vampire to buy him, John could have been anywhere right now. In a bed, being bedded, being beaten, or whipped, or drained. Not here, not with his sister. And the thought itself was slightly unbearable for John at the moment. As his sister came back over to him, John grinned, clutching his side with a loose grip before he flicked his eyes beyond his sister, instead offering the smile to Sherlock instead.

 

Sherlock managed a small smile in return to the one John gave him. He could somewhat understand why Harriet had hugged him, he might have done same had he and Victor been in the- no. What? Those thoughts never appeared without provocation. They were not allowed. With a grimace, Sherlock realized that he didn't want to be outside any longer. He strode forward, past the two Watson’s, giving them a tight nod and going into the foyer, and shutting the umbrella. There was a certain name echoing and bouncing around his skull. He didn't want to be thinking about this. The thoughts were hornets, not dying like a bee would after one sting, but stinging over and over again. Sherlock threw the umbrella roughly, not caring who was watching. These thoughts were almost half a century old, they shouldn't be harming him.

 

Harry threw an arm around her brother’s shoulders. "I didn't punch him oops," she said, shrugging slightly. "I owe him alright? He brought you here." Just then the vampire stalked past them, and Harry raised a brow, following him with her eyes. She saw him throw the umbrella, the thing hitting the staircase and snapping as it landed weird. "Woah," she said carefully. "Did I say something?" She turned and looked at her brother, confused.

 

John’s brow creased considerably, frowning as something coiled in his belly. Something was wrong. He _knew_ something was wrong. Looking back to Harry, he gave her another hug before pulling back, already moving towards the foyer. "I'm sorry- I...I just need to see if he's okay, okay? I'll see you later, alright?" He offered her a quick smile before moving a bit quicker -as quick as one could get with a broken rib- managing to catch up with Sherlock somewhat, not quite a fast, but not too far behind him. "Hey, are you alright?" The concern was clear in his voice as he tried to move just a bit faster to get in pace with the vampire.

 

Harry didn't want John to go after the vampire, but there was no point in trying to stop him. She called a quick, "Be careful!" Before going back to her sweeping duty, smile gracing her features.

 

John had followed him. Well that was just perfect. He couldn't discuss this. Not at all. But he had to. So he stopped, bringing a hand to the bridge of his nose, the thoughts still stinging him. "No," he whispered, afraid his voice might break if he spoke. Victor was long gone, why was he still feeling like this? "No, John I am definitely not okay." He closed his eyes, stepping backwards until his back hit the wall. He slid down it, and as if without warning, his shoulders began to shake with silent sobs that would never be accompanied by tears. "I'm not," he managed through the sobs. The vampire pulled his knees up to his chest, hiding his face in them and wrapping his arms around the tops of his knees. He was truly breaking. After years, months, days where he didn’t think about it, the glass had been chipped, and now it was shattered.

 

John blinked as Sherlock suddenly slid down the wall, watching him with a deep frown before swallowing thickly, wondering if it had been the best idea to follow Sherlock. Carefully, he stepped forwards, tongue darting out over his lips as he bent down in front of the vampire. "What happened?" He said softly, brow creasing further in confusion and concern. "Did Harry do something? Did...." He swallowed thickly. "....did I do something?"

 

Sherlock was trying to regain control, but it was rather difficult. He hadn't had a break down in a little while actually, it was unusual that it was to be now. He was able to shake his head, reigning in his silent sobs to shaky unnecessary breaths. He tried to curl further in on himself, he wanted to disappear, but with John in front of him it would be pretty difficult. "Neither of you did anything," the vampire managed to say into his knees in a scratchy voice. He kept his head there though, not looking up. His chest was tight and his whole body was washing with waves and waves of long passed guilt.

 

Then nothing he could apologize for then- at least not really. Looking over Sherlock, John sighed, not caring if the other had the ability to cry or not, instead just sitting down in front of him and pulling Sherlock forwards into his arms, placing his chin atop the curls, which near to blinded him they were so thick and wild. He shut his eyes and simply held him, not knowing what else to do. John only knew he should comfort Sherlock- whatever this was, it didn't matter. Sherlock was sad, and that wasn't good, and _that_ was all that mattered.

 

Sherlock froze as he was moved into John’s arms. Was he holding him? Why was he doing this? John had no debts owed and he had no purpose for trying to do this. Sherlock didn't understand. "What are you doing?" He asked quietly, though he did not move away, enjoying the warmth of arms around him. Just like- Sherlock trembled slightly. Stupid stupid thoughts.

 

John held Sherlock a small bit tighter. What was he doing, actually? Well- "I'm....I'm just trying to comfort you. You're crying- or.....well....you know." His voice was equally as quiet, shuffling a small bit to make their position just a bit more comfortable.

 

The vampire let out a breathy laugh. "Of course you are," he managed, and because John was, Sherlock wound his arms around the shorter mans torso, touch light and careful, and he moved so he could lay his head on the blond’s chest. He relaxed slightly. Humans had a terrible habit of trying to empathize, but right at that moment Sherlock rather appreciated it.

 

John didn't smile all too much, instead put most of his effort into making sure Sherlock was alright. Even if he didn't appreciate his effort to help him, John hardly cared, instead hesitating before stroking his hair lightly. "What else would I be doing?" He huffed quietly. "I'm not exactly just going to let you sit there and cry." Again- it hardly mattered if Sherlock shed actual tears or not. It was still crying all the same.

 

John was running a hand through his hair? Against his will and the fact he almost wanted to keep crying, the vampire let out a small hum. The heat of his hand was immensely pleasant, and Sherlock leant into the touch. "I haven't been kind to you," he murmured. "You could have stayed with your sister."

 

"It doesn't matter if you were kind to me," John said, opening his eyes a small bit to look at the wall. "Just because of that doesn't mean I shouldn't be nice to you...." His hand paused in its strokes before resuming. "....everyone deserves to have some kindness in their life, you know." This was said rather quietly, John’s hand seeming a bit more gentle as it carded through the curls.

 

Sherlock closed his eyes slightly. "My life ended fifty years ago," he muttered, pulling back reluctantly. "Look I really appreciate the effort, but I don't deserve this." The vampire removed John’s hand with a sad smile. "You should go have something to eat," he murmured, standing quickly and offering a hand to the blond.

 

John looked up to him, taking his hand, though didn't attempt to get up. Instead, he simply squeezed it, eyes locking with Sherlock’s. "It doesn't matter if you're dead or not." He said rather firmly. "Sure, you didn't do a very kind thing for me in the past, but... just..." John loathed at how he had never been able to find proper words, trying rather hard to articulate something to him. "...don't say you don't deserve it. Others- yeah, they really don't. And sure, you're kinda rude......but you haven't done anything bad. Not really. Getting mad at me for getting mad at you really isn't a bad thing. Worse things have been done, trust me." He gave a sort of weak kind of smile here before letting it drop, getting to his feet and trying not to wince as his side moved in an odd sort of way before he stood upright. "And honestly, I think I'll be sick if I have something else to eat." It was true- he had been feeling the slightest bit nauseous.

 

Sherlock’s chest almost felt warm at John’s words. Never had anyone said anything like that to him, and it made him smile. He had always been the one people didn't care about, not the one people comforted. So that smile grew into an actual feeling of happiness, though, that dropped away at John’s final words. "How long have you felt sick?" He asked quietly, frowning at John’s slight wince. "How long has it been since you have eaten?" It was good, to focus on something else. To fret and worry meant that he wouldn’t think about anything else.

 

"A few hours- but it's fine." John assured then, giving a small smile. He was used to the clenching feeling in his stomach now. "And.....maybe a couple of hours ago. I'm not sure- it's just....it's not good for me to eat too much, you know? Unless I feel like puking my guts out." He shrugged a bit, giving a weak laugh. Throwing up wasn't something that was all too appealing for him, honestly. He didn't even like the idea of it.

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and moved to press a hand in between John’s shoulder blades. He pushed him forwards slightly, as if ushering him, all thoughts of a green eyes blond over taken by worries for this blue eyed one. "I'll make you eat an apple," he said, not taking no for an answer at present time. "You have to have something."

 

John huffed and crossed his arms over his chest a bit. "Fine- but only an apple." He nodded, though knew it would probably make him sick. He'd try to keep down the barf anyways, since Sherlock suddenly seemed determine to heal him instead of push him around. This was much better than the latter, anyways.

 

"Good," he hummed, and because John wasn't resisting the vampire went and walked beside the human instead of ushering him forward with a hand. After a quiet few moments he asked, "How was it seeing your sister again?" There was no better way to start a conversation then using a very happy occasion.

 

John looked to Sherlock, curious at to why he would ask that kind of question, though did nothing else before answering. "It was... good. Really good. I mean… I thought she died. They were splitting up the pens, and they forced Harry to go onto another truck. I was just....I couldn't come along. Apparently they had too many humans in there and they needed to give some over to another trafficking ring, something like that. I just... I don know why they would take care, out of everyone. They did take others, 'course, but..." He trailed off from there, looking down.

 

Sherlock frowned, and put a hand on Johns shoulder, only for a moment. "You're together now," he said, a small smile gracing his features. "Past is the past." They got to the kitchen and Sherlock went to a fruit bowl. "What type of apples do you like?" He asked, picking up a green one and one red. He started juggling them while the blond made a decision.

 

John smirked at the sight of the vampire juggling -because really, who couldn't smile at that?- before reaching out, rather glad to have caught the red one instead of simply dropping it and failing in his attempt to be 'cool'. "The red one." John nodded as he took a bite.

 

Sherlock smirked, and put the green apple back in the fruit bowl. "Good choice," he murmured, watching John with a pleased expression, making sure he didn't look like he was about to empty the contents of his stomach. "You need to get used to eating again," he murmured, sitting on the closest chair and crossing his legs.

 

John took another bite, settling down into a chair himself. "It's not exactly something you can just 'get used to' again..." He looked down at the fruit, swallowing the chunk he had bitten, happy that he didn't yet feel sick.

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You've always been so stubborn Vic-" he froze, and clapped a hand over his mouth. No. No no no. John was not Victor. He wasn’t a replacement. He wasn't anything other than a guest. "I mean," he coughed, eyebrows knitting together as he brought his hand down from his face. "I assume you've always been so stubborn?" His voice had gone quiet.

 

Vic? Who was Vic? John’s brows furrowed for a moment, frowning as he blinked in confusion and slight concern. "Yeah..." He slowly looked away from Sherlock down to the apple in hand, flicking over to him once again. He didn't know whether he should ask about it, considering Sherlock looked absolutely petrified with himself for possibly using that name instead of John’s own. Trying to put on a smile and possibly lighten the mood, John gave a small chuckle. "Just ask Harry about it. I'm sure she's got some stories from when we were kids." John’s chuckle turned slightly weak as his memory seemed to hiccup, bringing up drunken slurs and belts. He paled slightly. "Ah... yeah. Probably should just ask for stories."

 

The vampire noticed the further rise in tension and swallowed quickly. "I apologize," he murmured. "I may have mixed you up with someone I used to know." Someone I killed. Sherlock shrugged, wondering if he'd still have to vomit up anything he ate as he stared intently at the green apple. "And Harriet still dislikes me, so I won't be asking her about anything." His lips twitched half heartedly.

 

John nodded his head a bit in slight understanding. "What did you do to make her so pissed anyways? Well, more pissed than she usually is at least." He crossed one of his arms over his stomach, looking at Sherlock and tilting his head a bit.

 

Sherlock shrugged. "There's a list. I tipped her secret stash of alcohol down the sink, I told her off for trying to sneak out, I walked in on her and Clara... And then told them to keep it more subtle, oh, and then I hurt you today." The vampire shrugged again, leaning heavily on the bench and letting out a small sigh. "I'm sure there's more but I'm too tired to remember."

 

John snorted slightly at the second part of the whole thing. He had known Clara for a short time- she and Harry had gotten together before all of this, and Clara had managed to sneak her away aboard with Harry when she was taken. Lovebirds and all. It was something John did admire, though knew he could never really have. He'd tried love before... it hadn't worked out all too well. "Clara's here then, yeah?" John took another bite, swallowing to even though he felt his stomach swirl slightly.

 

Sherlock nodded. "Of course she is. I couldn't have one without the other apparently. When I went to buy Harriet the slave master said that it was two for one, they were creating absolute havoc." The memory of the two women huddling together in a cage was not pleasant but it was comforting. It made the vampire smile. "Though, it was a better day when I had acquired you, though the slave master wasn't too keen on letting you leave."

 

"I'm surprised," John kicked the floor absently. "He hated me. It wasn't exactly a 'model slave', really." He shrugged a bit. Of course, he did know the reasons on why the slave master wouldn't want to get rid of him- but those weren't things he thought he could share yet. Or ever. What the slave master had seen and let happen, he probably enjoyed it- He looked over the apple in hand, sniffing for no particular reason as he forced down the anger in his stomach. "And I'm not actually surprised that Harry and Clara made a total mess- they tended to do that a lot. Maybe that's why they got taken," He thought about taking another bite, though decided not to, instead simply holding the apple.

 

Sherlock didn't like the look John got behind his eyes. He looked distant and furious at the same time. "Yes well, I suppose that's why they got so annoyed when I did not allow them to do so here." The vampire smiled despite the off feeling he was getting, and he began to watch John very carefully for any signs of unrest.

 

John gave his own small, crooked smile. "Yeah- they'll warm up to you though, I'm sure. Sometime. Maybe." He shrugged, putting a hand on his stomach as it clenched. No- he wasn't going to throw up. He was fine. Absolutely fine.

 

Sherlock smiled but it melted into a look of concern. John was grimacing. "I recommend you go by the sink." He offered, narrowing his eyes and resisting the urge to go over to the human and run his hands through the man’s hair. He'd been able to eat soup. So maybe the chewing bit was what made his mind think the food an unwelcome foreign body.

 

John nodded his head, getting up off the chair. The movement made his stomach turn, and John decided that yes, the sink was definitely a good place to be. Lurching over it, his body clenched as he gagged for a second or two before something actually came out, the blond slumping over the sink once he was finished upchucking what he had eaten. His legs felt slightly weak, his arms shaking as he wiped off his mouth on his arm -not the wisest decision, but whatever. His throat stung with the bitter taste left in his mouth, and John looked to Sherlock as he swallowed down, trying to mute the taste at least somewhat. "Water?" He croaked, clearing his throat as well as he could.

 

Sherlock walked over to John, patting his back lightly. He reached up to a cupboard above the sink; one John probably wouldn't have been able to reach anyway, to get a glass. He brought it down, but before filling it up, he rinsed the sink with an expression of mild distaste. One good thing about being a vampire, no sickness. He handed the glass to the human, a sympathetic smile in place. "You'll get used to it soon."

 

"Sure," John downed the glass, setting it back down on the table before wiping his mouth again, face regaining a little color. He was sure he'd get used to it- just not very soon. Food was becoming something that didn't honestly seem appealing to him, really, though he knew he would have to eat regularly -or regularly enough- else he wanted to remain in his slightly unhealthily skinny state. He just really needed to fill out- it would be nice if everything didn't hang off of him anymore.

 

Sherlock continued to frown; he wanted to force something down John’s throat so he didn't look so thin. That was a highly irrational thought but Sherlock almost felt compulsive. "Would you like to sleep? You can use my bed if you wish," his arm twitched slightly, as if he were fighting the urge to wrap an arm around John’s shoulders. It was probably because Sherlock was relating him to Victor. The protective feelings would dissipate soon enough.

 

John rubbed a hand over his face, letting it move through his hair. "Yeah- that'd- that'd be good." Sleep was good. Sleep meant not thinking about things, and letting his body heal. Yes, sleep was good.

 

Sherlock nodded tightly, and because John was looking so pale, he blurted out the quickest option to getting to his room. "It'll take all day if you try to walk, can I carry you? It'll be more effective." His tone was diplomatic and calm; he was aching to help his little human, instead of how it should be, the other way around.

 

John looked to Sherlock, swallowing thickly before nodding his head a bit. "That'd be good." It was fastest that way, probably- well, not probably. It would actually take John all day to just find Sherlock’s room.

 

Sherlock nodded, and stepped forward. He picked John up easily, tipping his legs up so he was being cradled against Sherlock’s chest. He was very warm and very light and not for the first time the vampire knew the ease in which he could break this human. He started walking, knowing it would be even quicker to run but he didn't want to jostle the human.

 

John didn't honestly mind being carried, though he also became well aware of the fact that Sherlock could break him. It was an intimidating thought, definitely, but he tried not to mind it. Sighing softly, John almost near to nuzzled his head into Sherlock’s chest, though he would never admit to doing it. He closed his eyes then, not really sleeping, just resting them for a moment.

 

Sherlock hugged John against him carefully, taking smooth steps. He wished he had more body warmth so he could protect Vic- John more. Protect John. John. Not Victor. Sherlock smiled when John curled into him more, but didn't comment. They got to his room in a reasonably quick time, but Sherlock hesitated at the door. John was perfectl- no. He was not Victor. The vampire stepped through and quickly placed John carefully on the bed, stepping back and putting his hands behind his back. "Alright John?" He asked, careful.

 

Sitting up a small bit, John nodded his head. "Alright." He said with a small smile, Settling in the bed and looking towards the window for a moment before managing to get himself under the covers, closing his eyes before peeking one open. "...thanks." He said quietly before settling his head onto the pillow, trying to get at least a little more rest than the few hours -or perhaps minutes- he had gotten so far.

 

Sherlock nodded. "It's no hassle." He shifted his weight from foot to foot for a moment. "Look, go to sleep, and if you need anything, just call out. Someone will hear you." He smiled, wanting to wait until John was actually asleep before leaving.

 

John nodded, yawning a bit before he began to drift off. It was oddly warm in Sherlock’s bed- or perhaps John was simply imagining that it was warm. Whatever- it hardly mattered.

 

Sherlock waited until John’s eyes were closed, then he practically fled the room, rushing down the hall to be in front of Mycroft’s door. It was closed, so he supposed his brother would be in there, but he didn't barge straight in, he only knocked loudly. "Mycroft. Mycroft. Mycroft," he said quickly, knocking. He needed to speak with him. "Mycroft I need to talk to someone."

 

The elder Holmes lifted his head off of the pillow it had been resting on, raising a brow before sighing. He hadn't really been sleeping- he hardly ever slept, actually. He'd simply drifted off into more of a trance than anything, though still fully aware of everything. He'd been listening to Greg's heartbeat this entire time, finding it calming, and quite wonderful, when his brother knocked. Feeling slightly annoyed, Mycroft placed a kiss on the human’s neck before lifting himself away from the bed, careful not to disturb Greg as he made his way to the door, opening it up and canting a brow. "Yes?"

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years little patooties X have a good one :)
> 
> ENJOY XX

The younger vampire peered around the elder Holmes, huffed when he saw Greg, and ignored it. Mycroft's business not his own. He grabbed the other’s wrist and pulled him out into the hall. He shuffled, blurting out what he needed to share. "I've started seeing John as Victor." His tongue darted out to touch his bottom lip and his eyes pleaded with his older brother.

 

Mycroft took several seconds to process the words, blinking once. To take such a time to even think about such a small sentence was something that was awfully big, actually, and after a moment Mycroft finally did say something. "Brother....I do understand that you miss dear Victor, but you mustn't use John as some form of.....replacement for him." Honestly, he should have figured this coming- Sherlock would be desperate for some kind of companion, and John was currently the only human who seemed to catch his interest, however slight it seemed. Mycroft should have known what would happen the very second Sherlock even said John was 'interesting'. "I know the loss was very hard for you, I do, but you cannot let some delusion come over you that you can simply somehow make John and Victor the same."

 

"You don't think I don't know that?!" The younger vampire snapped back, hands going up to pull roughly at his curls. "John is nothing like him." The brunet’s voice cracked, and he spun three sixty on the spot. This was far too quickly, as soon as John had mentioned the passed blond, everything was going downhill. "But every time I look at him? I can't help but feel- feel _something_ , and I can't- not just forget that. Both of them, blond with light eyes."

 

The mind was surely a fickle thing. Yes, Mycroft was now beginning to understand sentiment due to Greg -though he would most likely be one of the only people to experience it firsthand in Mycroft's time of living- but what Sherlock was doing, imagining, was simply irrational. "Do you have actual feelings for John?" The vampire inquired. "Or is it just the manifestation of Victor you've created in him that's making you feel the way you apparently are?"

 

Sherlock gave a non-committal shrug. "I don't know," he said quietly, though by the way he started pacing he was trying to figure it out. "I want to keep him safe! I want to have him around, to make him smile and laugh, and yet- it feels so wrong! Like I should be despising him or feeling guilty that I’m moving on I just-" he stopped, grabbing at his hair again and starting to panic. "Victor would be ashamed say I'm using him for gain and Mummy would cast me out she would run a stake through my heart this is all so _wrong_." His desperate eyes locked onto his brother. "Help me."

 

Mycroft listened to his brother grow more and more distressed, gripping him by the shoulders once he was finished. "Don't say that. Don't say that Mummy would drive a stake through you. She doesn't know, and hopefully she will never know." He began in a stern tone before letting go. "And honestly Sherlock, do you think Victor would be ashamed that you're actually moving on with your life?" Mycroft shook his head before he paused; narrowing his eyes a small bit. "And what are you talking about, 'using him for your gain'? What could you possibly even 'gain' from John Watson?"

 

Sherlock shrugged, baring his teeth at being grabbed by his brother. "He seems like someone who one would gain something from associating with." He narrowed his eyes in reply to his brother. "And technically, I'm not moving on. I'm staying in the past, thinking that he is Victor." Sherlock cleared his throat "and I just-" he cut off, shrugging again.

 

Mycroft sighed, rubbing at his temple in aggravation. "If you simply plan on using the man for your own petty, emotional matters, I do suggest that you don't." He said simply, looking over his brother with a frown. "Have you even thought of what would happen if he suddenly decided to return the sentiment, only to find out that you only love the delusion you've created of him? It would be catastrophic for him, Sherlock." Sure, Mycroft didn't understand emotions himself, but he understood the human nature well enough to know that John would be a bit hurt, possibly more than just 'a bit' actually.

 

Sherlock grimaced. "I _know_ ," he hissed. "Do you think I'm thick?" He ran his hand through his curls again. "That's exactly why I'm asking your help. John Watson will be an ally, strong and stubborn, he has a good heart. I don't _want_ to feel like this. Yet I am." His tongue darted out and his breathing picked up again. "I don't want things to be ruined by sentiment, or feelings, they're disgusting things. I need to find a way to just see him as all he is to me, a companion and an ally. Nothing more." He looked desperately at the other vampire.

 

"And how am I supposed to do that?" Mycroft's brow furrowed, feeling a bit more than simply annoyed at this point. "You seem to be capable of finding and eliminating feelings all on your own. You seem be capable of finding some form of sentiment with Alexander and eliminating the next second after." This came out as just a slight hiss, his eyes narrowing. Of course Mycroft hated that Sherlock would go round to the Adler’s for a shag- the bastard had almost killed Greg, and constantly killed their own humans on a daily basis due to carelessness.

 

"I don't know what you might do," snapped the vampire. He didn't like not knowing, it was extremely irritating. "And Alexander is a prat. Easy to fake sentiment. This, on the other side if the spectrum, is somewhat real." He winced at that. "Do _something_ Mycroft, please."

 

"What would you like me to do, Sherlock?" Mycroft's eyes flashed, growing more and more irritated by the second, even nearing anger, though not quite. "I cannot magically make your problems disappear, no matter how much you would like me to do so." He was rather desperately trying to keep quiet, not wanting to wake Greg, though that was becoming a slight hassle. "Here are the only options I can come up with: you delete everything that John has that reminds you of Victor from your mind, or simply don't have any further contact with him. If he is causing you so much woe, though disconnect from whatever you have with the man." Mycroft's expression was steely and solid as he spoke. "This is why it is best not to care, Sherlock; caring is not an advantage."

 

Sherlock groaned loudly, not caring that Mycroft may be wanting to keep quiet. "The very being of John Watson reminds me of Victor," he snapped, seeing the anger flare in his brother’s eyes. "Should I just tell him? I could. He would understand right?" Sherlock rubbed his face. "And where would he go hmm? To the Adler’s? I don't think so. He wouldn't be safe. I am not putting him in danger."

 

"Mrs. Turner is still a viable option," Mycroft didn't say it so much as mutter it, pinching the bridge of his nose before waving a hand. "And fine- tell him. I hardly care anymore. Deal with your own emotional turmoil- I'm going back to bed with Greg." With that, Mycroft turned on his heel and stormed back into his room, getting onto the bed in the silent manner of which he always moved, though curled around the human a bit tighter as he tried to scrub away the annoyance, focusing on the heartbeat instead as he wrapped his arms around Greg's waist, holding him to his being and shutting his eyes, huffing.

 

Greg mumbled something quietly, curling into his vampire unconsciously, humming with content.

 

Sherlock swore childishly after his brother, refraining from kicking the door in a fit of annoyance. What would he say to the human? There was nothing to say! John would freak out, and he would want to leave, yet Sherlock couldn't fire him. He had Harriet, and he was safest here. Sherlock growled after his brother, annoyed. He normally knew everything, yet as soon as Sherlock needed help the facade dropped and he didn't. Sherlock rushed back to his own room, unsure what to do. He should probably just tell him the story. He could just say that. Maybe the human would piece something to together. It didn’t take him that long to decide once he decided to do what he wanted. Sherlock sat in the arm chair once he got to the room and sighed quietly. Caring was not an advantage.

 

John rolled over in his sleep, twitching slightly, though that was it. Thankfully, there were no nightmares- or at least not a nightmare strong enough to have him making a sound in his sleep. Mostly it was just flashes of things going by his memory. Harry's departure was fresh in his mind, his finger twitching and clutching the sheets as it replayed over several times in his head, John curling tighter around himself in the bed. The memory swept off into something else, and as a new image replaced it, an automatic switch seemed to flick in his head that woke him up. Even in subconscious he knew not to touch on that. Snuffling awake for a moment, though he was deciding on going back to sleep, John looked over to the side, wrinkling his nose. "You there?" He could see the blurry shape of what he hoped was Sherlock, though couldn't exactly be sure it was him.

 

Sherlock started, which was uncommon for him. He needed to get back on form before something happened. "I am," he said quietly, sharp eyes having already mapped John to see if he had been having nightmares, but his relaxed position was calm and easy. There was nothing wrong, he'd just woken up. The vampire stopped himself from asking John if he wanted anything, letting the silence hand between them. Was it weird? Watching John sleep almost? What would he have done if John wasn’t here? Probably gone and shagged Alex. Sherlock pursed his lips, thinking about what Mycroft had said. He crossed his ankles slowly, unsure if he was going to bring this up or not.

 

John yawned, giving a nod of acknowledgement to Sherlock's presence. "M'kay...." He prepared to put his head back down, though hesitated, instead lifting it again and blinking away the bleariness as best as he could. "You okay?" He questioned next, trying to get himself out of the blankets a bit that he had quite literally cocooned around himself, rolling onto his back rather than laying down on his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows a bit. Honestly, he didn't actually mind Sherlock watching him like that- in a very, very, very weird way, it made him feel....safe. He didn't even understand why, considering that Sherlock was a vampire and he should have felt far from actually safe, but he didn't bother in trying to understand it at the moment.

 

"Hmm?" Sherlock blinked, as if coming back into reality. "Yeah, sure, you can say that." He sniffed, shifting slightly. John can't have been asleep for too long, the argument with Mycroft not being over ten minutes, and yet he'd been able to get into deep sleep and wrap himself up in the blankets. He'd be very tired. "Go back to sleep, I'll make sure nothing bites." His lips twitched, but his voice was almost hollow, he was trying to think.

 

Letting out a small snort at the others words, Jon laid on his side now, drifting off once again until he was only making a soft snore. Sherlock was fine- he could check up on that later. Now was a good time for a nap instead of worrying about it.

 

Sherlock wanted to go into a trance, but he needed to think. He all but threw himself into his own mind, working hard to organize memories and thoughts into the correct places. It was almost like time wasn't passing, and Sherlock even glanced at the locked cabinet at the back of his mind, thinking that those memories might come in handy when talking to John. He already knew them, of course, and they would come of their own accord, but having them chained up helped keep them in check. Outside, Sherlock didn't move, his eyes opting a very far away look. Time passed like sand through fingers.

 

It was about an hour or two before John snuffled awake again, sitting up and stretching as he kicked the blankets off a bit, looking to Sherlock. His hair was a bit messy, his side still warmed from sleep as he sat on the edge of the bed. "Sherlock," He greeted, pausing and possibly waiting for a response. When there was none for about a minute, John raised a brow. "Sherlock?" The vampire wasn't actually moving. Or blinking. Or....well, doing...anything, really. Frowning, John got off the bed, coming over and standing in front of the vampire. ".......Sherlock?" No response. John placed his hands on his hips. "Alright, this is getting a bit scary now."

 

Sherlock had started throwing things around. There were piles of ripped and torn memories, melting away only to reemerge and place themselves back in place. Sherlock hadn't the guts to delete them, but he did not want them there. He ran up to the top room, a new one, labeled simply 'JW'. He kicked the door open-

Sherlock started and jumped up, hissing like a feral animal. After a moment, he blinked, shaking his head slowly. "Jesus," he said slowly, carefully setting back into his chair. "Do not scare people like that, you could get injured." The vampire rubbed his face, actually yawning though it was a pointless action.

 

John recoiled as Sherlock hissed, taking several steps back and waiting till Sherlock was calm till he moved forwards again. "Sorry," He rubbed the back of his head a bit. "Was just a bit worried since you didn't respond- are you okay, actually? You sort of just...." He waved a hand a bit. "....blanked out there, I think."

 

Sherlock shrugged. "Just wandering down memory lane I suppose." The words were kind and happy, but his tone was touched by a foreboding dryness. Avoiding the conversation about his well being, Sherlock asked a new question. "How was your sleep? You seemed pretty comfortable. How you managed to move a queens blankets as much as you did, you could win an award." He smirked.

 

John smiled a bit, shrugging slightly. "It's a nice bed- and just one of my many talents." The man moved towards the edge of the bed, settling down there once again.

 

Sherlock watched him and swallowed thickly around a small smile. "Of course, yes, it's a very good talent to have." He scoffed, but his fingers were moving rapidly against the side of the seat, a sign of his unease.

 

John chuckled, though his smile faltered as he noticed Sherlock’s rather nervous tapping. His eyes flickered over the vampires form. "....you sure you okay?"

 

Sherlock blinked. He should say something. Tell John. He should. He had to; he couldn't just let this keep going. It had already gone on long enough. "Can I tell you something?" He asked quietly, looking up to John from under his lashes. He licked his bottom lip, unsure if he should or not. But he'd initiated it now.

 

John blinked in honest surprise. "Yeah- yeah, of course you can. Anything." He nodded his head, leaning over his knees a bit as concern simply continued to curl in his stomach.

 

Sherlock cleared his throat and sniffed. He let out a huge breath, steeling himself. He looked flatly at John, and it was if his jawline melted and changed. His eyes changed to a green, his lips changing to a lopsided smile. Sherlock blinked, and John was sitting there again. It was easy then, to let it all slip out.

"I loved a man, when I was human." He started, and then it was all rushing out. "He was there when I changed, he helped me through, I survived because of him. He let me drink from him when I awoke. I couldn't drain him because I loved him. And then he asked if I would change him. He begged me, cried for me, he wouldn't let himself grow old without me. And I loved him, so I bit him." Sherlock faltered, clenching his fists. He didn’t have the ability to let the sentences go on for too long, speaking in short, clipped tones. "Then he died. And- well. All I will say is was he was short. With light eyes and blond hair. And I loved him. With my entire being. And those feelings are still there-" his breathing was coming in little pants, "and you have blond hair, light eyes, and I-" Sherlock swallowed and ducked his head. "It's been less than three days, and you're so much like him-" Sherlock couldn't continue. He closed his eyes. The dead shouldn't be allowed to feel. "Miss Turner is kind. She'd be a vampire I'd recommend." Those words were whispered.

 

John listened intently, brows furrowing with confusion at first before he simply stared at Sherlock. It wasn't all too hard to figure out, really- it was obvious enough, and John didn't have to be some kind of genius like Sherlock. He....he thought he was the man he loved. Vic. Victor. That- oh. That was why Sherlock had called him that. Now it was making sense. Was....was that the reason why Sherlock suddenly became so nice to him all the sudden? Because he thought of him as Victor? That would make sense as well, though something twisted in his gut at the acknowledgement to the possible truth. But what was this about Mrs. Turner? What was he going on about? What-? Oh. Was.....was Sherlock telling him to...leave? But -he knew it was such a change of mind since barely a day ago- he didn't want to leave. There was Greg and Mrs. Hudson and Harry and Clara.....and...and Sherlock. John honestly couldn't believe that the thing behind his ribs was actually clenching, twisting painfully at the thought of leaving this, leaving the manor, the people, Sherlock. "I...." Whatever else had been going to come out simply didn't, and John couldn't help but stare.

 

Sherlock let out a few breaths, unable to open his eyes and look at the human. "I know, I apologize, you would never reciprocate any feelings, and whatever I feel may not even be for you. They're for a man long gone. And I understand if you want to leave. I gather that this is an unwanted situation, so you can live with Mrs. Turner. She'll let you visit I'm sure, and you won't have to see me," the vampire was babbling, he could see he was, but he couldn't force himself to stop.

 

John remained in his own state of shock before he shakily got up, running a hand through his hair. His heart kept on clenching further and further and it hurt and god he needed to be somewhere else right now. "I-I need some air." He quickly went out of the room with that, unsure of what to do. It was an unwanted situation, really. But.....but did he reciprocate the feelings? He wasn't even sure. Sherlock was a handsome guy, he would admit, and he was nice and kind, even if he seemed to have a short temper, and now that John was thinking about it, it was getting harder and harder to deny. But it wouldn't be real from Sherlock's end- not really. And that in itself was something he couldn't currently deal with.

 

Sherlock was trembling and oh god he shouldn't have said anything John was going to leave and it was all going downhill too quickly he needed to get away from here but he needed to stay with John, he needed to make sure he'd get to Mrs. Turner alright. Mycroft was right this was wrong so wrong it was so wrong. Sherlock dropped his head in his hands and let out a groan. Caring was never an advantage, Mycroft had told him so many times.

 

John honestly had no bloody idea where he was going at all. He managed to get himself a bit lost in the halls, though he was actually looking for something- or rather, someone. Greg. He needed to talk to Greg. He was someone who would know what to do about this, right? Sort of? Possibly? Hopefully? He knew more about vampire’s natures than John did, and certainly he had had a longer time dealing with them than John had. He didn't think he could go to Mrs. Hudson with this- mostly, he just needed to talk to someone who's heart was actually beating.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this monster is finally edited!! So you'll most likely get an update every week until the very end! Yay  
> I'm going to have to edit the tags, things came up that I forgot happened :/   
> Anyway, apologies again if it gets messy, as is RPing amirite??
> 
> ENJOYXX

Sherlock moved so he could wrap himself up in the blankets John had just slept in. He was being terrible, almost playing with him as he tried to figure out turmoil that should be long passed. Johns scent on the blankets made his eyes prick horribly, as if they were trying to find a way to release some sort of emotion. But that would never happen.

 

Greg let out a small groan as he awoke. It took him a moment, but as he turned around to peck Mycroft on the nose his bladder moved, and the butler let out a squawk. He sat up, looking around the room desperately. But no. Of course there was no loo. He leapt out of bed, giving the quickest stretch he had ever done in his life before racing out the door. "Need to pee, need to pee, need to pee." He chanted, trying to remember where the closest lavatory was. Five years working here and he still had no idea.

 

Mycroft had been more than alarmed when Greg went from calm to frantic, sitting up immediately as his eyes darted around the room, looking for anything that could cause such alarm. Of course, then he realized it was simply the humans need to rid himself of whatever bodily waste he had, the vampire rolling his eyes and settling back down on the bed to await his humans return.

 

John had honestly been wandering aimlessly before he heard the faint chant, turning quickly. Greg nearly passed him before John grabbed his shoulders, keeping him in place. "Greg-" His face showed his clear desperation. "I need to talk to you."

 

Greg stopped with a squawk. "Can it wait by any chance I'm about to piss my pant-" he cut off, looking at John’s eyes. "Is everything alright? I mean, has Sherlock done anything?" The butler crossed his legs feebly and held a hand to his bladder. "Is it going to take long? If so, can I wee first because I don't want to resort to killing a plant but I'm almost at that level." His lips twitched, but soon felt like now was not the time.

 

John gave a twitch of a smile before letting Greg go. "Just- you know- go on ahead." He waved a hand, letting Greg pass. He could wait for the butler to empty himself before emptying his feelings on him.

 

Greg gave a grateful smile, grabbing John’s wrist and tugging him along. "Lord knows you'll get lost if you try and follow me." He smirked, trying to picture the map of the manor. Closest bathroom, the one he had hid in yesterday. He almost ran, though he kept himself from doing so for John’s sake. He burst through the door, closing the door on John’s face with an embarrassed smile as he went over to the urinal and did his business. When he was done he let out a relieved breath, washing his hands quickly, he even took off the bandage on his neck. He touched it, and it wasn’t too tender, before going back to the door, opening it and leaning on the doorway. "How can I aid you John?" He asked, his tone formal.

 

John waited patiently outside the door, looking down at his feet and gnawing on his lip as he did so. His nerves simply seemed to build up further and further, about ready to burst when Greg came back through, John wasting no time to start, practically blabbering. "So- so Sherlock wasn't seeming okay, so you know I asked what was wrong. And then he started about this guy he used to love -Victor, his name was Victor- and the thing about that was that before he called me Vic before and I didn't take notice but- okay, alright," John took a breath. "He....he said I reminded him of Victor, and that he had feelings for me because of that. And... and I sort of have feelings for him, but it's so _so_ wrong because he just thinks I'm Victor....he said he doesn't even think his feelings are for _me_ , and now he's telling me to go to some Mrs. Turners and I don't know what to do." He finally finished.

 

Greg waited patiently until John was finished, and then he opened his mouth to say something, though no words came out. He held up a hand, opened his mouth again, but nothing came out. His hand dropped and he started with a lame, "Oh." He thought for a second. This was a dilemma and a half. "Just ahh, give me a moment to think about this." He frowned, biting his bottom lip as he looked at John’s worried expression.

 

John watched Greg, feeling his shoulders slump slightly, running a hand through his hair. "I'm....look, I'm sorry for dumping all of this on you- I just.....I needed to tell someone, before I left, I don’t know." Rubbing the back of his head, looking down. "I'll just- sorry for- yeah." He made to move forwards. He should have just said goodbye or something rather than dump it all on the poor man. That would have been easier- probably. He didn't know. Just make up some excuse about how Sherlock didn't want him and was sending him off to Mrs. Turners. Well, that was practically what was happening, wasn't it?

 

Greg grabbed Johns shoulder. "Are you stupid? You're not leaving, not on my watch." He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Sherlock is very emotionally confused. All the time. He can never decide if he likes someone or if they irritate him. He doesn't want you to leave." Greg raised his eyebrows. "I know that for sure. I'm pretty sure he thinks that you'll want to leave, so what he's doing is making it his choice that you're leaving, so he's still in control." He thought back a year and a bit. "Mycroft did exactly the same thing, and I can assure you that what Sherlock’s doing is probably mirroring that. Also, I have a theory already. He started getting feelings for you but he didn't know how to explain them so he pinned them on past emotions. He doesn't understand how things work." He shrugged slightly.

 

"But...Greg..." John grabbed onto the other mans forearm, confusion and happy and desperation flickering over his expression. "What if it's not like that? What if he just sees me as some replacement for this guy and it's not real and-" John finally sighed, cutting himself off as he let go of Greg, hanging his head a bit. "I honestly don't think I can just go through that just knowing it's not really _real_."

 

The butler smiled sadly. "Would it be better if you went to Mrs. Turners then? Or can you cut all emotions with Sherlock?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. "Because there are two options, the third being you play along, and then the emotions become real from his side, or they are already real. This is your decision, so you’ve got to choose."

 

Sighing, John ran another quick hand through his hair, his tongue darting over his lips. "Okay," He nodded his head for no particular reason, feeling his nerves simply continuing to build up further and further. "Okay." He knew what he was going to do now. Moving away from Greg, John shot back a quick smile. "Thanks for the little chat...it was good and- yeah-" He finished the sentence a bit awkwardly before moving back down the hall to Sherlock’s room.

 

Greg ran quickly to catch up with the blond. He pulled the short man into a hug. "Good luck aye?" He said, ruffling the sandy hair with a reassuring smile. "Come find me to let me know how it happens." He pat Johns cheeks and turned away, quickly walking back go Mycroft’s room. He crawled to be next to his love. "Just ran into John," he informed, crawling up to Mycroft’s chest and wrapping his arm around the vampire’s neck.

 

John smiled as he watched Greg go before sighing, pausing, hesitating and rethinking his decisions for several seconds, and then moving. He walked back to Sherlock’s room, taking a breath and waiting outside the door before he opened it up, coming in further into the room. "Sherlock?"

 

Mycroft near to purred when his human returned, wrapping his arms around the others waist before bringing up a hand to stroke the back of Greg's head. "Mm? And how is he? Did my brothers stupidity further cause him harm?" He questioned, raising a brow slightly.

 

The vampire started, wiping at his eyes even though there was no point. He leapt from the bed, wanting to seem like he wasn't as fazed by this as he actually was. "John," he replied plainly, shaking out his arms so quickly they were a blur. He made it back to his chair in less than a second, sitting in the same position he was in when John had left. "Come in." He was speaking as if it were a meeting for business, not a matter of life changing emotions.

 

Greg sighed deeply. "He told John then told him the best place was Mrs. Turners, he's understandably upset. I uh- told him to actually talk to him. I don't understand that boy." He leant his head into Mycroft’s touch, closing his eyes. "They are a mess Myc."

 

"Obviously they are," Mycroft rolled his eyes a small bit, leaning in to kiss Greg's nose. "I suppose we are a mess as well. Less of a mess, but a mess all the same."

 

Gathering up what courage he did have and reevaluating his life once again, John walked into the room, over to Sherlock, standing in front of the vampire. Gripping the collar of his shirt, John managed to tug him onto his feet -a slightly impossible task, but one he still managed all the same- and pressed their lips together. Honestly, he only meant for it to be a chaste kiss, a little experiment, but he found himself practically melting into it even though he had been the one to initiate it. Sherlock’s lips were just so plush and soft......it took several for him to pull back, trying to right himself. "I like you, alright? I do. And I don't want to leave so-" His voice cracked a small bit. "So- yeah."

 

Greg gave a small chuckle, and let out a shaky breath. "I'm going to sleep again love," he murmured. "Wake me up when either Sherlock or John are crying at the door."

 

Sherlock gaped down at the human. How different he seemed to the irritable little slave he had bought not long ago. Still stupidly brave, still mad as far as Sherlock was concerned, but the taste of John on his lips was rather debilitating. The vampire carefully ushered the human to the bed, leaning him back to fall nicely on his back. Sherlock pressed an extremely careful kiss on John’s cheek. He wouldn't lose control. Not ever. "I don't want you to leave," he murmured, his arms were either side of John’s shoulders. "But you'd be happier, not having to deal with me. You know that right? You know I'm only a hassle."

 

John was honestly surprised that suddenly he was back against the bed, looking up at Sherlock. Something plucked at a memory here, though John quickly shoved it away. No- no time for that. Forget about that. "I know that," John almost rolled his eyes, though instead brought a hand up to Sherlock’s cheek. "But I'd rather be here and deal with you than anywhere else."

 

Sherlock let out a quiet scoff, was he really that smitten already. They had barely known each other for three days. "I want this- us- whatever _we_ are right now, to be normal. Until Harriet gets used to me and Molly won't go on a murderous rage if we were to start... Whatever this might be." He leant slightly into the hand, before pulling back to sit nicely next to the human. He kept a leg right against John’s thigh; he didn't want to abandon the warmth just yet. "And I apologize for any, turmoil, I may have caused. I also suggest you go to bed. I awoke you far too early and you haven't had enough sleep and also you haven't eaten enough, you'll get sick you know-" Sherlock cut off once he realized he was babbling, frowning slightly.

 

Well no, John wasn't that smitten. He just didn't want to go to Mrs. Turners.

Sure, she was probably a nice lady, but he didn't feel as though he would actually want to leave. And besides, he thought he'd get out another kiss because of the word. Yep- that would have been fairly nice. "Alright, alright," John waved a hand at the vampires babbling, now rolling his eyes. "And I'm sure Harry will be okay with it. And....alright, Molly might be on a rampage, but she'd only want to murder me."

 

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "I don't know," he said, drawing the word out. "She might feel betrayed by me and run a stake through my heart. After all, hell hath no wrath like a woman scorned." His lips twitched at that. It was a good saying. "I'm sorry," he said again, so quietly he couldn't even be sure he said anything.

 

John frowned slightly, the smile that had been growing on his face disappearing at the others whisper. "For what?" Well, Sherlock did have some things to apologize for, though John had been sure that they had reconciled all of that with flower crowns and sunlight and horses and the lot.

 

The vampire shrugged. "Everything? Nothing? I don't know. I wished I'd died during the turning. I wish everyone died during the turning. This vampire business is getting old." Sherlock furrowed his brow slightly. He hadn't thought like at that at any other point in his death.

 

Frowning even deeper, John scooted a bit closer to Sherlock, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Don't talk like that, alright?" He gave him a small shake, brows furrowed as he pursed his lip slightly. Sighing and squeezing the others shoulder a small bit; John looked down before nudging Sherlock, getting to his feet and extending a hand to the other. "Come on; let's go back to the kitchen, yeah? I'm starving." Literally. His stomach was clenching because of the lack of good in it, really.

 

Sherlock gave a small smile, ending up not taking John’s hand as it was really likely that he would pull John onto his face. "Lets," he murmured, wanting to wrap John around the waist with his arm, but he didn't want to cross any boundaries, so he walked like he normally would, glancing at the human from the corner of his eye. It had been a while since he had done anything like this.

 

John hooked his thumbs into the band of his pants, walking with Sherlock. It was strange, really- he thought that after kissing Sherlock it would be different somehow. Somehow he'd thought that just walking with him would be different, would feel different. But... it didn't. It just sort of felt... normal. Weird.

 

The vampire opened the door for the short man, smiling slightly. He had practiced cooking as a past time through the years, and he pulled out a tall chair from the bench at the marble counter for the blond, smile widening. "I'm in the mood to cook something," he purred, leaning next to the human over his shoulder. "Do you want me to make you something? Or do you just want something plain?"

 

"Something plain'll do." John nodded his head, though the purr sent a small shiver down his spine -not that he would admit that, of course. It was just his damn voice- stupidly baritone, kind of sexy voice- alright John keep your head on straight here. "I really don't feel like getting sick again if I eat something that's not....well, plain."

 

Sherlock smiled, carding a careful hand through John’s hair. "How does a bagel with some cream cheese and salmon?" He asked, keeping his mouth close to John’s ear and tickling it with a soft breath. Was this moving too quickly for the both of them? They’d only just shared a kiss… Sherlock found himself not minding at all.

 

"Sounds- uh- sounds good." John nodded his head, closing his eyes as the hand went through his hair, clearing his throat a bit and trying hard not to shiver again. Stupid Sherlock and stupid weird feelings and stupid baritone-kind-of-really-sexy voice. It was all so stupid. And really, really nice, actually.

 

Sherlock heard John’s heart rate pick up and grinned, watching for the goosebumps that showed themselves soon enough. "Good," Sherlock said with a smile, pressing a soft kiss to John’s temple. He pulled away, then kept his hand on John’s shoulder as he walked away, trailing it casually down the humans arm until he started bustling around the kitchen without a noise. "Won't take too long."

 

John leaned back in the chair a bit, watching Sherlock move around the kitchen and finding it rather hard to glare, so didn't try very hard to. He was teasing him, wasn't he? God he was. John hated it. And liked it. Weird.

 

Upstairs, Mycroft found it rather strange that everything had gone rather silent. Usually that was a good thing, though now....well, he couldn't really tell. Which wasn't a good thing at all. Lifting himself up off the bed a bit, the vampire looked towards the door, where a distinct lack of crying or possible shouting was coming from. "Gregory?" He looked down at the man. "It's silent." It was a simple statement, though one that made him slip out of bed, looking back over to his human with a slightly pursed lip.

 

Sherlock was practically a blur as he hopped from one kitchen appliance to the other. Fridge, for the cream cheese, pantry, bagel, toaster for bagel, fridge, salmon, blender, blend salmon and cheese, pantry, some parsley in with them, looks a little gross, fridge, little bit of lemon juice, put in blender, whizzed up, kitchen drawer for a icing bag, put salmon mix in icing bag, and so on until the plate was served, a gorgeous little bagel with swirled salmon-cream cheese mix, a little thyme to show off presentation. Sherlock pushed it in front of the human, eyes sparkling as he waited for a reaction.

 

Greg nodded, sitting up further. "Do you think they died?" He asked quietly, unsure if they should go check on the pair or not. He kicked his feet over the edge of the bed, frowning.

 

John blinked at the sight of the little bagel, honestly surprised. He'd just been expecting some salmon and cream cheese on a bagel, not a little masterpiece of a plate. "Thanks- this is-" He picked up the food, taking a bite and letting his shoulders slump as he moaned. "Jesus- that's good. Where did you learn to cook like that?" He questioned as he gnawed on the food, not wanting to devour the entire thing all at once.

 

"Well, possibly John died and Sherlock's out trying to cover up the body," He shrugged, though he knew that probably wasn't the case. With the way Sherlock had been acting, if he had accidentally killed John, he would very likely be in hysterics. Honestly, he'd probably see it as losing Victor. Again. Mycroft swept the thought from his mind. "Do you want to see what's wrong, and shall I?"

 

Sherlock’s face broke into a huge grin at Johns reaction, the moan was an added bonus. "Self taught I suppose," Sherlock hummed, leaning forward over the bench to watch John, chin balanced on his hands. "I uh- have a lot of free time. I can make a very good meal quite quickly, though things need time to cook. That salmon was pre-smoked if you were wondering." He hesitated slightly, "Do you seriously like it?"

 

The butler nodded, standing up and stretching. "We should go check on them. Sherlock’s room first?" He offered, taking Mycroft’s hand without hesitation to pull him through the bedroom door.

 

"Yeah, I seriously like it- it's amazing." He ate off the last bit of the bagel, his stomach content with that much as he settled into the seat. "And you taught that to yourself? I mean, I know how to make some meatloaf and shepherds pie, but that? That's....that's really good, Sherlock." He supposed the vampire would have quite a lot of free time, all things considered. He'd had at least fifty years of suspended time to learn those things. He paused for a moment before suddenly seeming to think of something, clearing his throat a bit and rubbing his neck in a subconscious manner. "Uh... do you need to... eat..?" He questioned with a small bit of hesitation, not knowing whether the vampire had fed lately or not.

 

Matching stride with Greg, Mycroft went down the hall, coming up to his brothers’ door and not bothering to knock before simply opening it up, looking in. Well, he couldn't smell blood in here, and there wasn't currently any sign of them. So something good and something bad. "I don't think they killed each other... no scent of death wafting around here besides my brother..."

 

Sherlock swallowed, tilting his head to assess the feeling in his stomach. Empty, yet not debilitating or painful yet. "I'm fine," he smiled, taking the plate and placing it in the stainless steel dishwasher. He brought out a huge pint glass, and didn't hesitate to put it in front of the human. He looked expectantly at John, waiting patiently.

 

Greg frowned slightly. "Do you think he may have turned into a bat taking John to his bat kingdom?" He asked, looking around the room with an expression of immense confusion. "The servants quarters? The library? Music room?" He looked to Mycroft, blowing on the vampire’s nose. "C'mon boy, sniff 'em out." He grinned playfully.

 

John looked at the pint glass for several moments, flicked his eyes back up to Sherlock, then looked back down at the glass. "...what's this for?" He didn't need to ask what it was- he already knew that. He just didn't know what it was for.

 

Wrinkling his nose slightly, Mycroft gave the tiniest roll of his eyes, though did begin to try and sniff out John’s scent. He did, in fact, find it, following it with his own lazy pace. "Come along then, Gregory."

 

Sherlock smiled, raising his eyebrows. "Well, despite the fact that I am no longer alive, I do know that humans need to drink. So, what I am doing, is I am insinuating that you ask for a huge glass of water. Because you've had salmon and such, you just haven't had some water." The vampire smiled.

 

Greg ruffled the auburn hair with a smirk. "Good boy Mikey," he cooed, though he immediately started following the vampire as he started to walk.

 

John raised a brow, though nodded his head. Obviously that was it- he just hadn't been expecting Sherlock to just sit there and wait for him to just watch him drink. It was a small bit creepy, but alright he supposed. "Thanks." He got up from his seat, taking the rather large glass and going to the sink, filling it up at least halfway and bringing it back so he could sit down. He drank a sip, then another large sip, his tongue suddenly seeming to cry out for the liquid. Of course, John restrained himself, putting the glass down when there was only a drop or two left in the cup.

 

Mycroft looked back to Greg with a rather unamused expression before moving on, continuing on the trail of John's scent till he was at the entrance of the kitchen, standing stock still as he surveyed what was happening. "Ah, good. No one's dead. Splendid." He gave a quick upwards twitch of his lips. "I suppose you've figured everything out, brother mine?"

 

Sherlock’s eyes immediately trained on Johns throat, but his mind wouldn't let him think about the blood that was under the skin. So warm and so... Enough. The vampire looked up and straightened at the sight of his brother. "Of course it is. We both know I'm brilliant at this kind of thing." His tone was slightly dry, but it was genuine enough.

 

Greg felt his eyes immediately find John, and he left his vampires side to walk over to him. "I hope he didn't give you too much trouble..." The butler said, clapping John on the back. "We all know that Holmes' are difficult." His gaze flicked to Mycroft, and he gave a cheeky smile.

 

"It was fine," John offered a smile here, grinning before he let his gaze turn to Sherlock whilst Mycroft scoffed, seeming a small bit worried for the vampire. He'd seen him looking at his neck, of course, and now he was just wondering if he would have to further insist on Sherlock drinking to actually get him to do so. Now that he was thinking about it, it'd probably be a bit nicer now that he wouldn't totally be freaked out by the vampire probably whispering 'delectable' or whatever into his ear. Actually, that'd be kind of sexy- Jesus Christ John just stop thinking right now get your mind out of the fucking gutter.

 

Mycroft moved forwards a bit, standing closer to Greg. "I would hardly say so- you barely seem to have a handle on your emotions half the time, and the only romance you did have was with Victor. You're numerous.....endeavors when we were human hardly count for this kind of thing."

 

Sherlock physically flinched at the name being uttered. He narrowed his eyes at his brother. "Fine, I was surprised when John kissed me, but I haven't killed him yet, so at least try and be a little happy for me hmm?" He curled his lip, posture going from relaxed to tense in less than a second. It was surprising what name could do to someone.

 

"No Myc," Greg murmured quietly, putting a finger out to poke Mycroft’s arm, "leave them be." He then turned to John. "Ya kissed him already?" The butler grinned, "Score mate, well done." He snickered. He'd have to take care of John now; they were in a mirror situation.

 

Mycroft curled his lip slightly as well as John gave a slightly sheepish grin. "Really, it was the only thing I could think of to do," He shrugged a bit. Perhaps it would have been best to talk it out, sure, but talking usually led to broken ribs, as he'd already experienced. Seeing Sherlock tensing, John tried to further lighten the mood. "And I have to admit, he is a pretty good kisser." John grinned at Greg before flicking his eyes to Sherlock.

 

Sherlock’s gaze flicked to the blonds face immediately. Was he joking? He had to be joking. There was no way he was being serious. A few more moments of watching. Greg cleared his throat very unsubtly, and Sherlock blinked, taking a slow breath. If he'd been human he would have been bright pink. The butler smirked, nudging Mycroft with an elbow, and Sherlock slowly broke into a grin, posture unknowingly relaxing hugely. "You were pretty good yourself," the vampire said breathily. He hadn't expected the compliment, so he wasn't exactly prepared to reply to it.

 

Of course, John was human, and managed to turn pink in the cheeks and ears when Sherlock merely stared at him. Well- that was a bit embarrassing, and slightly awkward. It had been sort of a jest, but a true jest all the same. He had been a good kisser. Or just nice lips. Either way, it had been good. John was rather relieved when the vampire grinned, taking slight pride in the compliment given back to him. Mycroft, getting a small bit tired of all of this, hooked his arm into Greg's. "Seeing as you two are apparently well and... at least one of you is alive... I think we'll be going now." He turned, pulling the human along with him out the door.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha I love napping in the evening and waking up at two am  
> (Incoming Mystrade guys :) ))
> 
> ENJOY XX

"Oh c'mon it was only just getting good!" The butler whined, resisting only slightly to the vampire pulling him.

Sherlock looked up after the pair, smiling slightly. "They're a good pair," he mused aloud, looking to John and smiling again. And for some weird reason, it didn't feel like he was loving someone else. John was alive; he was with Sherlock now, not in the past. He smiled at what Sherlock said, and he praised his cooking. Victor would've just laughed at him. Was it love yet? Probably not, but it felt very close to. Maybe being dead meant he would never feel love again... That made Sherlock’s brows crease, but as soon as he focused on John again it melted away. It didn't matter. "Are you still hungry?" He asked suddenly, standing up straight and hoping he hadn't been staring.

 

Well, he had been staring a little, but not too much for John to get too freaked out by it. "No- I'm fine, thanks." He had thought about asking for more, but found that option to be a bit greedy, in a sense. He knew it wouldn't be too much of a hassle for Sherlock to make something else, but still. John suddenly thought of something, looking around the kitchen a small bit. "So... Greg's a butler, right? And everyone here does have some kind of job?" John leaned forwards on the table a bit. "Does that mean I have a job?" It would be good to have something like that pass the time, honestly, keep his mind busy.

 

Sherlock hesitated only slightly before rattling off facts like he was used to, detaching himself from the situation to get information across in the most efficient way possible. "Technically you're my personal butler. You're supposed to whine and cry for me to consume your life force, plead to give sexual favors to me if ever I need release. The term personal butler could also be known as 'vampire’s favorite pet', and a favorite of mine, 'someone who's life is worthless and you serve only to make someone's afterlife more pleasant until you die'." Sherlock grimaced at the truth of his words, but he came back to reality and looked plainly at John, sighing slightly. "Though, if you would like to go polish the statues outside I could go find Molly." He was starting to feel the pangs of aching hunger more harshly now, but he would not admit that to John.

 

John felt his hands curl into loose fists as Sherlock spoke. Would insisting that Sherlock feed from him because he looked hungry be considered 'whining and crying'? And making someone's afterlife more pleasant till he died? People actually went out of this world kissing the feet of vampires? It seemed wrong- it was wrong, in all manner of the sense, really. Swallowing thickly, John rubbed the back of his head a bit. Well, at least he knew his place here, at the very least. Getting up out his seat, John came towards Sherlock, hooking his thumbs into the band of his pants again. "Well, I'm not going to be giving you 'sexual favors' or anything," He didn't even think he could if he tried. "But you can at least feed from me before I go out to polish statues. You did sort of feed me, after all. Returning the favor." He shrugged a bit.

 

Sherlock leant hugely over the bench, chin balanced on one hand in an extremely relaxed position. "I'm _fine_ , John, I will survive." He swished a hand through John’s hair, smiling at the man’s face that was now slightly nearer to be level with his own. "You go do some housework, I need to wash the dishes, make my bed." He raised his eyebrows twice in quick succession. The statement about sexual favors made Sherlock’s chest stir in a way Alex's advances never could, but the way John’s eyes darkened at the words, the vampire stifled them. There would be no way he would put John through that.

 

John crossed his arms over his chest, but nodded all the same, sighing softly when the hand went through his hair. The quick raise of his brows made John roll his eyes a bit, the edge of his lip quirking upwards, though something clenched in his stomach for no particular reason -or perhaps he knew the reason and simply didn't want to think about it. "Alright... but if you're not fine, just come to me, alright?" John looked the vampire over once again before moving out of the kitchen, rubbing at his arm a bit. It wasn't that he didn't like the thought of actually doing something with Sherlock, -actually, he liked the thought quite a lot- he just wasn't exactly sure he'd be able, and he was a small bit afraid. Not of Sherlock, god no, just... just the idea of sex in itself was a bit flustering, even unsettling for him now. But... if Sherlock did want to, he'd manage. He always managed.

 

Sherlock hummed in confirmation and kept a small smile in place until John was out of sight, then the smile dropped off and the vampire let his head crack onto the bench. It was so emotionally draining, being happy and smiley all the time, yet with John it seemed almost effortless. Yet... As soon as he didn't have to, it was like he was exhausted. Sherlock didn't want to go find Molly, he would either have to talk to her, pretend to like her so she didn't cry, or somehow cause her to get really annoyed and glare at him. Or all of the above. What to do then? He tilted his head, making sure the sound of John’s footsteps were far away before walking out of the kitchen and in the direction of the music room. He wasn't that hungry, not really.

 

John got outside of the manor, breathing in the fresh air and relishing the sunlight once again. He'd grabbed a few things to polish the statues, managing to find some cleaning supplies after a slightly nervous man named Henry directed him to it. John got to work then, finding that actually working and doing something productive was quite a good thing. It helped him focus on something that wasn't the past, or the possible future, or the current present- it was very nice, to say the least. It was even better that he was outside really, though a slight part of him became just a bit nervous. He was alone, after all, and though he was sure that Irene or any Adler would come along, he couldn't help but be apprehensive about it.

 

Sherlock didn't end up going to the music room. He already knew all the instruments by heart, and he could play virtually any virtuosic piece he saw. It was a somewhat dull past time. He could go up to his room and make the bed, or he could actually wash the dishes like he said he would, but instead he took a detour. To his brother’s room.

 

Greg was sitting carefully in Mycroft’s lap, pressing hesitant kisses to every part of the vampires face except the lips. He wasn't sure how the little activity came to be, but he was enjoying himself, and he hoped the vampire was too. Just as he was about to press the final kiss on Mycroft’s lips with a smile, there came a rapid knocking at the door. "Mycroft," said the familiar voice, and Greg internally groaned. Interrupted by the younger sibling. Typical.

 

Mycroft had placed his hands gently onto Greg's waist, enjoying the light pressure of his weight on his lap and the kisses being pressed to his cheeks and face, awaiting the moment Greg would ignite the slowly building flame and press their lips together. Mycroft was currently willing to give the experience of pleasure another shot, knowing he wasn't currently hungry, and promising to himself that he would have control. His eyes had fallen shut when he felt the human’s breath cast across his lips, awaiting the kiss and what would come-

 

Hearing the knock, Mycroft growled in frustration, hands tightening their grip on Greg's hips slightly before he pressed a small kiss to the other mans lips, not nearly as satisfying as it would have just been. "Yes, Sherlock? I'm a bit busy right now," He tried to make his voice a bit less bitter.

 

Sherlock, didn’t hesitate in opening the door without invitation, and he narrowed his eyes slightly but didn't hesitate to say simply, "I'm bored. John went outside to polish statues and there is nothing to do." He looked over to Greg, who gave a plain wave, he looked slightly ruffled. Then, feeling the urge to be slightly annoying, just a tiny little bit annoying, he asked, "Were you going to have sex? Or... Are you planning to? How will that work?"

 

Greg coughed a strained laugh. "Excuse you?" He asked, frowning. They'd just been kissing, somewhat. Ish. Did that always have to lead to sex? Greg blushed only slightly, but he stood and followed to be by Mycroft, who’d gotten up to glare at his brother. "Look kiddo, go find John and harass him, or play piano or something." He hesitated to touch Mycroft’s waist for some unknown reason, but when he did he leant into the touch.

 

Mycroft raised a brow, clearly not amused by his brother’s interruption. He brought an arm around Greg's waist in return for the touch. "What we were doing is clearly none of your business, Sherlock. If you would please keep your nose within your own business, that would be quite lovely." He huffed silently before sighing. "And what exactly are you expecting me to do about your boredom, hm? Go out and play with the wolves or something, I'm sure they'll enjoy it." He waved a hand, as if shooing him away.

 

Slightly irritated that he was being shooed away like he would a fly, Sherlock decided to a _tiny_ bit more annoying before he left. "Make sure you don't break him brother, it would be sad if Greg died during coitus," and then he turned away without another word, stalking down the hall but unsure what to do with himself.

 

Greg swallowed, looking up to the vampire. "I- um..." He said, but he didn't know what to say. The mood was definitely ruined, but they did need to talk about this. "Yes... About that... Um..." He chewed his bottom lip, unsure how to proceed from here.

 

Mycroft admittedly did seem a small bit flustered by his brother’s words, watching him go with a narrowed glare before looking to Greg. If he were human he would have flushed, rubbing the back of his head slightly. "....yes...well- that- I would have control, I'm sure-" He began, feeling foolish for stuttering in the same manner the human was.

 

Greg smiled then. It wasn't often Mycroft Holmes stammered because of you. "Then good," he murmured, pressing the final soft kiss upon the vampires lips. He wasn't sure if he was completely ready just yet, but he had planned on giving that kiss anyway. It wouldn't do any harm. He snaked his arms around Mycroft’s waist, pulling them together so their hips were touching. His heart rate had picked up only slightly, and he wished that he could feel Mycroft’s. The butler looked into Mycroft’s red irises and smirked. "Cat got your tongue?" He asked playfully, tilting his head.

 

Smirking, Mycroft looked down at the human, eyes half lidded. He could hear Greg's heart beating, the sound rather comforting to him. He liked to hear it- it wasn't a predatory sort of thing, but more so he simply liked to hear that Greg was alive, that he was here with him. It was truly a wonderful sound. "No- but a certain butler has stolen my heart." He purred. He wasn't one for romantic talk, but he had been around long enough and read enough poems to talk in such a loving tongue.

 

Greg rolled his eyes and playfully shoved the vampire chest. He gaped jokingly, "You've fallen for John too huh?" He walked dramatically away from the vampire, jumping on the bed only after a moment hesitation, then he threw a hand onto his forehead with a sigh. "Woe is me," he said dramatically, bending one knee and sighing again. "John Watson is just irresistible to the vampire kind." He sniffed, peeking out of one eye to look at Mycroft with a grin.

 

Watching Greg's dramatics, Mycroft gave a light huff of a laugh, as he came over. He climbed onto the bed, moving atop the human. He didn't plan on doing anything, it was just far easier to look at him this way, and he did feel a small bit playful. "John Watson? No, I'm afraid not. I've fallen for another- he's kind," Mycroft kissed Greg's forehead. "And funny," His lips pressed against the ridge of his nose. "And intelligent," Now the tip of his nose. "And quite handsome too." Mycroft pressed a kiss to his lips then, letting it linger before he rolled off, sitting on the edge of the bed.

 

Greg flushed, sitting up and wrapping his arms around the vampire from behind. "So who is it then?" He asked, right by Mycroft’s ear, breath tickling the lobe, which he then blew on slightly to be annoying. He squeezed tightly, and balanced his chin on the shoulder of the man.

 

Mycroft leaned his head against Greg's. "He's a lovely man named Gregory Lestrade. I'm sure you know him." He turned his head a bit to kiss the humans temple, placing a hand over the man’s own and rubbing his thumb gently over his knuckles.

 

The butler blushed but scoffed. "I don't actually. Sounds like a bit of a tosser." He grinned, watching the vampires hand on his own. This was so nice.

 

Mycroft grinned playfully. "Sometimes...." He chuckled, looking to Greg to let him known it was simply a joke. "No- he's honestly quite amazing. I'm sure you'd love to meet him."

 

"I'd much rather meet his partner. Heard he's extremely attractive and kind, intelligent, and immortal too." The butler lowered his voice. "Also, I heard he has the reddest hair that you ever did see." He grinned, then it melted into a playful smirk.

 

"He does sound like a lovely fellow," Mycroft grinned, nodding his head a bit, though the action more seemed like he was nuzzling into Greg's hair. Either way, it was good.

 

Greg moved himself around to Mycroft’s front so he could push him to the bed. Sure, all this cute lovie-dovie stuff was perfect, but they had been in the middle of something just then, and Greg wasn't one to leave someone hanging. So he pushed the vampire backward so he was laying down, and straddled his hips. "Yeah he's okay. Met him once," he shrugged slightly, not doing anything else but sit there.

 

"Just okay?" Mycroft raised a brow, his hands finding their place on Greg's hips, fingers managing to get up his shirt just a small bit to trace little circles on the warm skin. _Warm_. That word alone made him so very enticing, honestly.

 

Greg shivered slightly, but he nodded. "Yeah, he's pretty average. Kinda pale." He shrugged with a grin, leaning forward so his face was above Mycroft’s and either forearm was on the two sides of his head.

 

Mycroft's eyes became half lidded as he watched Greg lean forwards, eyes flickering to his lips. "I have to say... my fellow is quite beyond average... honestly, he's quite delectable..." The vampire purred, leaning up so there was only inches between their lips.

 

Greg leaned even more forward with a scoff, so the tips of their lips were just brushing. "Literally," he breathed, now tucking one leg in between Mycroft’s, it was a snug fit actually.

 

Oh, Greg was just teasing him right now. Feeling Greg shift his position a bit, Mycroft accommodated it as best as he could while focusing on the man, memorizing each blemish on him, every flaw that was an utter perfection. "I do think there was one thing I forget to mention about this man," There was barely any space between their lips now. Mycroft let the edges of his lips twitch upwards. "I love him." And with that, the vampire locked their mouths in a passionate embrace, his hands tightening their loose grip on Greg's hips, though only slightly, as not to possibly hurt the fragile human.

 

Greg felt his cheeks heat up, pulled himself impossibly further into Mycroft. He gasped into the vampire, mind spinning. He did feel the same, obviously, but it was different to feel something and word them. He let himself fall onto the vampire’s chest, using his hands now to wrap them through Mycroft's hair. He pulled back, eyes wide, and he hesitated. He did feel it, he knew he did, but those eyes were so expectant, and he felt obliged to say it but he had to now. The butler hid face flaming face in the crook of Mycroft’s throat. "I love you too," he murmured, settling completely on the man beneath him. Jesus he felt like an idiot. Cross-species relationships were not his division.

 

Mycroft smirked when Greg put his weight down atop him, placing a hand at the back of the others hair when he suddenly placed his rather warm face right into his neck. The mumbled words nearly felt etched onto his skin they were said so close, the elder Holmes closing his eyes and humming. He hadn't had the intention of Greg saying them back- he had just needed to say them. It was best to get that out of the way now before anything, really. It was pointless to leave something so obvious unsaid for any longer. But that was simply his logic.

 

Greg smiled slightly, though he kept his face hidden. He slowly ran his hand through Mycroft’s hair, a calming movement. He took a small breath in, and not for the first time, he was slightly disappointed that the vampire didn't have a scent. "Yeah," he mumbled. "I do love you. A lot." He bit his lip, feeling his heart pump excitedly in his chest.

 

For once, Mycroft wasn't so bothered by the sudden sound of Greg's heart pounding in his chest. Usually it was a small bit annoying, considering the sound usually thundered in his own ears when Greg was even within a few feet of him. But this... he could feel it against him, pulsing, pumping, pounding right against his own chest, and for a minute it did seem as though he had a heart beat of his own, just one that kept in tune with Greg's, living as one. But those were foolish thoughts, and Mycroft swept them away quite easily as he nosed into Greg's grey hair. "I love you too, my dear...very, very much." He murmured quietly.

 

Greg then pulled up, a small look of worry in his eyes. "And I'm so lucky to have you feel that Myc, but..." he hesitated, blinking slowly, "There is the issue of immortality, and the fact you're a prince, and-" he cut off; feeling foolish for ruining the moment, but it had to be discussed. The butler swallowed thickly, grip on Mycroft’s hair tight. He wasn't good with emotions that weren't happiness.

 

Ah. There it was. The catch that had been nagging the back of his kind ever since he had begun to actually feel things for Greg. He was going to live forever. Greg wasn't. He was a prince. Greg wasn't. He never forgot those facts- simply chose when not to remember them, really. Frowning slightly, Mycroft sighed, opening his eyes to look at the human above him. "I... I have said often that it is not an advantage to care." He said softly, slowly, quietly, still letting his fingers draw slow, meaningless patterns into the man’s skin. "But… I have known you for a number I years Greg, and... and I must say that caring is more than an advantage. It is more than anything, really. And I know of the faults within this- within what we have, but..." He reached up a hand, cupping Greg's cheek and letting his thumb stroke the skin just below his eye. "I do not care if you age, become old. I don't care of my bloodline- I could throw away that title easily enough. No one in my family would rebuke such a decision, although I would very much like to keep it..." The last part was mumbled slightly; he did like the manor, and certainly the power that came with his name. "And you will most slightly roll your eyes at me when I say this, but... I'd rather much have you than anything else."

 

The butler did resist the urge to roll his eyes, but then another thought came up into his mind. "I'm going to die," he whispered, anchoring himself in the redness of Mycroft's irises. "You'll be left alone," Greg lent into the hand on his face, but his eyes were holding an eternal sadness. This would plague him terribly. Mycroft would fall more and more in love with him, and Greg would return those feelings, and then he would die. Mycroft would be left alone for the rest of eternity.

 

Now, there was a thought that had definitely come to mind quite a lot. He didn't deny the fact that Greg would for someday- it was inevitable. It was simply human nature. He had thought that asking Greg to become a vampire several times, though had turned down the idea all too quickly when he realized it wasn't good to share the bloodline, and the possibility of Greg dying during the process. He had seen what Sherlock went through. He wasn't sure he could go through the same thing. Swallowing thickly, Mycroft pushed back any unwanted feelings, instead simply watching Greg with a sorrowful look in his eyes and a hollow smile on his face. "I know that." That was all he could manage before he suddenly wrapped his arms rather tightly around Greg, pulling him back down to himself. He relished the heart beat, fingers curling into the human’s hair as he shut his eyes tightly, putting the others head into his shoulder. "I know."

 

The butler hugged tightly, blinking slowly. The fact that he could turn into a vampire was out of the question. There was no he would ask Mycroft to do that. He took in a shaky breath, nuzzling Mycroft’s neck for a moment before pulling back and pressing a desperate kiss to the vampire's lips. "Then we may as well make the most of it while we can," he said, a sad smile touching his expression before he leaned down again.

 

Mycroft agreed with Greg's words wholly and fully. Looking up to the man, the vampire let his hands run up and down the humans back as he brought their lips together again, desperate to taste him, to feel them reunited in such a way. He wanted to now do it as much as he could while he could. He was making the most of it.

 

The kiss slowly heated, for him literally, not so much for the vampire, Greg was grinding down slightly on the man underneath him without really knowing. There was a lot of open mouth desperation happening, even though they had years and years of this. He felt his gut tighten, and the butler pulled back, lips slightly swollen and eyes feverish. It had been a long time. "Are we going to do this?" He asked, blinking quickly.

 

Mycroft's hips had responded in kind, bucking upwards into Greg's, feeling something clench in his gut that told him to take it easy. Control. Control was the key here. When Greg pulled back, Mycroft almost felt like he could flush watching the human. His tongue swiped over his lips momentarily, getting another taste of Greg. "I believe we are."

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexy mystrade times  
> also warning for upcoming chapters like damn  
> happy v day too you sexy's

Greg let out a gasp. "Okay," he managed, moving one hand to hook it on Mycroft's waist band, tugging it down slowly. He probably wouldn't last too long, now that he thought about it. The butler caught his bottom lip, hands shaking slightly as he tried to actually get the button undone. He swore under his breath, coloring slightly. The shirt then. He undid the top buttons without too much struggle, but slowly as he tugged Mycroft’s shirt up he froze, staring at the vampires torso. "You've been hiding things," he murmured, all movements halted now as he trailed a careful hand over the abdominal muscles, the shadow of a v-line. It was unusual, he would have imaging Mycroft being a little bit softer around the middle, but obviously being a vampire didn't allow for that. Suddenly Greg, who was not normally so, felt very self conscious. He wasn't sculpted like a god. Fuck he was nervous. He felt like he was a teenager. This was mental.

 

Of course being a vampire permitted a rather nice body structure -this was most definitely a perk, as Sherlock could no longer rightfully call him fat. He still did, of course, but at least he was wrong now. He didn't honestly mind the sudden exposure, mostly just watching Greg thoughtfully. He was nervous, obviously, but he had every right to be. If Mycroft wasn't too careful, he could harm him or- no, it wasn't going to come to that. Not at all. The vampire opened his mouth to possibly say something, tell him if he didn't want to, he didn't have to, but then Greg was talking again, and the vampire could quite literally smell the nervousness wafting off the man. "I suppose I have..." He hummed, looking down at his less than soft stomach before flicking his eyes back up to Greg. Carefully, he let his fingers move underneath the other mans shirt, beginning to lightly tug it upwards, waiting for Greg to cooperate with him. "There's nothing to be self conscious about, Greg," He murmured, trying to soothe the others anxiety. "I am sure you are beautiful..."

 

The butler swallowed, tensing. He had been hiding things too, but they weren't as appealing as Mycroft’s secret. He let the top get taken off him though, shutting his eyes and only opening them again when he heard it hit the ground. He looked down, fighting the urge to cover up his skin. He wasn't fat, not by a long shot, and his chest was one of a healthy mans. But that wasn't what he was worried about. Scars. Lacing his skin in every which way, stopping where they would be completely exposed. There were small circle ones, where a cigar was pressed just above his naval, and white thin slices. That had been just for fun. And all over him, white dots, some torn further, but mostly just small little punctures that had never healed. "I know I am," he mumbled, shutting his eyes again and taking slow breaths. He sat up and Mycroft’s hips, showing his entire torso. Oh god.

 

Rage. That was the only thing he could currently even manage to feel. Pure, utter, boiling _rage_. How _dare_ someone hurt something - _someone_ \- as beautiful, and pure, and _good_ as Greg was. _His_ Greg. _How dare they_. He grit his teeth, trying to swallow down the anger as his finger lightly traced over the white lines left from the whips, his thumb circling over the burns before he smoothed his hands onto the humans sides, rubbing up and down slowly. "Greg...." He said softly, as his hand reaching up to touch the others collarbone. He didn't know what to say, honestly. He was angry, but...mesmerized at the same time. Humans were so frail, easily broken, and yet they were so _strong_. Their bodies, though weak, could endure so much. Vampires wounds always healed, if they even got any, but humans bodies let theirs leave marks on their skin, showing what they had been through. They weren't ugly, or somehow marring to the humans beauty, but rather enhanced it. His thoughts showed quite easily on his face, expression speaking nothing but awe.

 

Greg felt himself color. Mycroft’s expression was more adoring than he had ever seen, yet it masked a pure fury that was rather terrifying. "I know," he murmured, hand coming up to touch the one on his collar. "It's not... _that_ nice, but, I mean, they're a good conversation starter." The butler managed a small smile at his own words. He swallowed, not wanting to be watched any longer. He felt like he was being dissected under the vampires gaze, and it wasn't very pleasant.

 

Mycroft saw Greg's discomfort, deciding to bring attention back to the main purpose of their current position. "I would think so," The vampire murmured as he placed his hands on Greg's hips, sliding down to his pants, pulling at the band of his pants before working at the button of them, managing to get the fly quite easily with his long fingers which weren't trembling, unlike Greg's.

 

The butler swallowed, though he sat up so his trousers could be shucked off, and he kicked them onto the floor, now feeling slightly exposed just in his underwear. "Now now," he said, color on his cheeks contradicting the condescending tone he was using, "you're in a lot more clothes than me, and I don't think that's fair." He sat down heavily, ignoring his tented underwear as he tried to work Mycroft's pants off his hips. Though his fingers were slightly more steady he still took a little longer to get Mycroft's pants down, tongue darting out to touch his bottom lip. He was so nervous, yet he had hardly ever struggled with this kind of thing before the slave trade situation. And he'd suffered no sexual abuse, unlike some, so why was his heart beating like it was trying to escape his chest? Greg opened the vampire's shirt completely, pushing it off the other's shoulders.

 

His own cock was beginning to rise with interest by the time Greg managed to get his trousers off, the vampire grinning just a bit. Once Greg had managed his shirt off as well, Mycroft gently rolled them over, now being on top of the human. He just seemed do nervous... Mycroft did have to show him it would be alright. "Don't worry," He almost hushed him, looking down at the man with an expression that could quite easily be called loving. "It's going to be fine." He leant down to press a soft kiss to Greg's lips, pulling back as his fingers began to slide beneath the band of Greg's briefs. "Though I do suspect that you and I are just a bit more clothes than we should be......" Slowly, he began tugging his underwear down his thighs, making sure that Greg was still completely alright beneath him.

 

Greg stifled a small noise of surprise as he was flipped, there was no escaping now. But by the way he was bucking upwards, trying to gain friction, the butler found himself not minding. "Mycroft," the butler said, voice tight, like a whimper. He needed to be touched. He lifted his hips, cock springing out and Greg was so flushed he was sure his face was on fire. Crap, this was getting so heated so quickly... "Myc," he whined again, pulling the vampire down to crush his lips against him so he couldn't make the little noises he involuntarily was.

 

The almost needy sounds coming from the human were most definitely a motivator for Mycroft to begin swiping his hips downwards, easily using one hand to bring down the last garment of clothing, freeing his erection. He still made sure to have control- control was the key here. He kept that in his mind as he kissed Greg feverishly, though it seemed more like they were smashing their mouths together rather than kissing. The vampire pulled back to let out a gasp as he ground his hips into Greg’s, his cock rubbing against the other mans. A primal need began to spring in his chest, giving more heat to run south as he put his hands on the bed, beside the humans head as he brought their lips together again, moaning into it.

 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Greg rolled his hips upwards, trying to get some grip on Mycroft's back with clawed hands but the skin was impervious. He wouldn't last long, how could he, this was so perfect. "Mycroft," he gasped into the vampire’s mouth, trying to create more friction, their erections slick as they slid together. Greg threw a head back, shit, this was too much. It'd been far too long, this was so overwhelming. "Fuck- I-" his voice was choked off, he was trying far too hard to reach release, this was so much stimulation. Fuck.

 

Mycroft felt Greg's body begin to quiver, though he was rather glad to know it was because of pleasure rather than pain. Slowly, carefully, the vampire gave a final fiery kiss to Greg's mouth before sliding downwards, kissing down the man’s chest, over the numerous scars and tanned skin until the others erection was nearly touching his cheek. He let out a shuddering breath at the beauty of it as he spread the man’s legs a bit, propping his knees up and ghosting his mouth over Greg's cock before wrapping his mouth over it. He started slow, not wanting to overwhelm the man any further, bobbing his head up and down. He made sure to be careful with his fangs as he did so, letting his mouth pop off of his cock once to place his fingers in his mouth, wetting them as best as he could before he pried upon the cheeks of the others arse, letting them slid into the tight ring of muscle there. He would need to find lubrication soon, if they were going to continue with these activities later- and god, he was hoping they were. 

 

Greg cried out. Wow. Shit. He was receiving head from a prince. Crap. The wet coolness engulfed him; he couldn't even think that that could kill him. His mind was a blur of the unusual feelings of a mouth on his dick that wasn't warm and holy crap there were fingers- Greg let out a cry, arching his back as his hands, which had been gripping the bed until his knuckles were white, shot down to pull and tug and almost rip at Mycroft's hair. He'd never done this, those fingers were not warm but a pleasant cool, it was a weird feeling. He clenched down on the digits, which made a spike of pain go through him, to which he tensed even further, crying out in slight panic. 

 

At first, Mycroft honestly didn't think anything of the sudden cries, merely taking them for sounds of surprise. But them he could smell the panic. Immediately, the vampire removed himself, managing to get his fingers out and mouth off of the man, looking up at him. The hair tugging hadn't hurt him- Greg wouldn't have actually managed to pull any of them out anyways. Breath hitching slightly, Mycroft crawled up the others body, pressing kisses to his collarbone, neck, jaw and cheeks. "I'm sorry- I'm sorry-" He began, feeling honestly frightened with himself. He'd hurt Greg- he'd hurt him again. Panic and guilt began to swirl in his stomach as he kissed the humans lips, looking down at him with extreme worry. "I didn't- are you alright? I'm so sorry-"

 

Greg felt the fingers remove, and the mouth, and he shook his head slightly as he clenched on nothing. He'd been overreacting, now Mycroft was upset. "No, crap, Myc, I'm sorry, it was- just a little bit of a surprise is all." His hands had followed Mycroft upwards, and they were now making small circles around the vampires back, trying to soothe the vampire and himself. "No it's fine, it's fine," he hushed the man on top of him quietly, returning the kisses whenever possible. "It's fine, I'm fine, we're fine." He had heard the worry lacing the other's tone; it was not okay for Mycroft to feel that.

 

Oh- _oh_. Mycroft slumped slightly with relief, closing his eyes before opening them to look at the human beneath him. "I'm- I thought I had hurt you..." He whispered, feeling a small bit embarrassed for slightly ruining the mood with his own anxiousness. Breathing out softly, the vampire rested his head into the crook of the humans neck for a moment before lifting, raising a brow. "But... but if you would wish to continue..." He left the offer open, though had moved himself down a bit already, looking up to Greg as he kissed the hollow of his neck, sucking at the skin there lightly to leave a faint mark.

 

Greg leant his head backward, letting out a sigh. The lips on his throat were exhilarating, but he didn't really feel like heating up again. "Mood's gone love," he hummed, feeling his heart beat steady out now. His erection was still pressing into Mycroft's hip, as was Mycroft's into his. "I'll finish myself Myc," he murmured, trailing a single finger around one shoulder blade, feeling slightly embarrassed that he had to ask his probably-soon-to-be-lover away. "Maybe later, when I'm slightly less jumpy?" He asked, getting his other fingers to draw patterns all over the vampire's back.

 

Sighing, Mycroft looked down at Greg, knowing well that he would have to do the same. "Alright...." He brought himself a bit higher before leaning down, pressing a gentle kiss to Greg's lips. "I am sorry though." He looked down at him a moment longer before rolling off, sitting beside the man and looking over at the rather gorgeous sight beside him. He gently began to trace over Greg's stomach, looking rather somber as he drew his hand up, stroking the others jaw gently. "I love you." He hesitated with the words for several moments, unsure if to say them, though it did not show too much in his voice.

 

The human turned his head into the touch, smiling slightly, and then watching Mycroft's eyes as he softly stroked himself. "I love you too, funnily enough," he murmured, keeping their gazes locked as his hand slid easily over the already slick cock. He knew how to finish quickly, where exactly to press and when to get to release quickly, but he didn't really know if he wanted to finish so quickly. He kept his movements slow and languid, eyes slightly foggy as the pressure slowly built. "So much," he breathed, blinking slowly.

 

At first, Mycroft didn't quite realize that Greg was beginning to stroke himself, though suddenly became quite aware as the others expression showed clear pleasure. Looking down, the vampire would have flushed if he could have, though bit his lip as he felt his own cock beginning to build more pressure at the gorgeous sight. His hand immediately went down to his own length, wrapping around his loosely as he rubbed up and down. "Good to," He gasped softly as he thumbed over the slit. "Know..."

 

Greg hummed, and he gently cupped his own balls, then pinching near the base of cock, licking his other hand and spinning it around the top of his length. Perfect. He wanted to keep Mycroft's face ingrained in his memory as he came all over the hand by the top of his member. It wasn't so forceful, just a calm spilling into his hand as he trembled slightly. He looked down at himself, blushing slightly, but lay his head back, not really ready to climb out bed to clean his hands.

 

The slight sight of Greg coming was wonderful, Mycroft letting out a soft groan as he came as well, the sight enough to send him off the edge. The looked down at his currently dirty stomach and hand, seeming calm and relaxed as he brought himself off the bed, standing over Greg a bit and leaning over to stroke over the other mans stomach and thighs, humming before he spoke. "Care to take a bath?" He raised a brow in question.

 

Greg made a little noise. "Ugh, yes please." He didn't hesitate to put his arms up. "Carry me," he said wistfully, batting his eyelashes at the vampire. "Poor me, my post almost coital bliss has made it impossible to move. Carry me my love." He kept his arms up in the air. He didn't want to walk, not really at all in any way.

 

Rolling his eyes, Mycroft obliged to the humans whims all the same, placing his arms beneath his body and bundling him up against his chest. "Of course, my darling." He hummed, leaning down to kiss Greg's forehead as he carried him over to the bathroom connected with his own room. It would have been a bit embarrassing to walk into the hall naked, after all. Setting Greg down to simply sit on the side of the tub, which honestly looked a bit more like a pool, Mycroft turned on the water, making sure it wasn't too hot nor too cold before slipping himself in, humming slightly before beckoning Greg to join him.

 

Greg swished his feet in the water over walking to it. "Since when was this here and why was I not told," he asked, appraising the vampire's bareness with slow eyes. His hands were still sticky, and he rinsed them in the water, smirking as Mycroft beckoned him forward. "Make me?" He purred, curling his toes in the warm water. The bath was huge, like a pool and he had never seen one as big as this one.

 

Smirking, Mycroft decided to answer Greg's question later as he moved forwards, standing up in front of the human. Water dribbled down his form as he leaned forwards, placing a finger beneath the mans chin and putting just an inch between their lips. "Join me, would you?" He breathed, knowing well that that would do a little more than just make Greg come along. Sherlock certainly wasn't the only one who knew how to seduce, after all, though Mycroft hadn't done any of that in years now. Perhaps he was a bit rusty....

 

John put his hands on his hips as he looked at the finished statues, smirking at his own good work. He'd polished the ones that he could, where he didn't have to reach up and accidentally hurt his rib. He wasn't even sure it was broken- it felt more like a fracture, really, though it hardly mattered. It was hurting less, and that was good. Smirking, John moved back inside the manor, wiping his hands down on his pants as he made his way forwards. It would be good to do a little exploring- he wanted to know a bit more about the manor if he was actually going to stay here.

 

Greg smirked, tilting his head slightly. "Well, I don't know, you're kinda insistent..." He brought them together for a quick peck, before scooping some water up from behind the vampire and bringing it up to splash on the back of Mycrofts head with a grin. "However..." Greg said slowly, watching the water drip down his loves head, and he pushed off the side of the tub, splashing ungracefully through the water to get to the other side of the tub, "I will get in to escape from you," he called, laughing.

 

Sherlock had taken it upon himself to make the jump from the bookshelf in the library to the rafter. It had annoyed him, not making that jump, and climbed with the light shining slightly through the curtain to aid his already perfect vision. It was more so he didn’t seem too unusual if someone was to walk in. He climbed to the top, narrowing his eyes as he calculated, trying his best not once, but three times to catch his fingers on the rafter. Each time he landed with a cracking of the floor, but he had started putting cushions in the way, so instead the floor breaking only down feathers spurt along the floor. He might tidy it up if he could be bothered after he'd made the jump. Because he would make it.

 

Huffing quietly at the rather uncoordinated splashed around, Mycroft dipped himself in the water, smiling lazily from the other end before moving forwards, coming to settle next to the human. "I'm afraid that's rather impossible." He said, grinning as he grabbed one of the sponges from the side of the tub soaping it up a bit before scrubbing gently at Greg's shoulders.

 

John had actually been meaning to go check out the servants quarters, really- he had barely been down there, and it would be best to find his bedroom sooner or later. Thinking about it, he'd mainly just slept in Sherlock’s bed for the past few days... hm. Whatever. Of course, that had been before he heard the soft thump of a body landing on... something. The sound had made him grow a bit nervous, not very much liking the idea of a body simply falling to the ground in the way this one seemed to be. It reminded him too much of things he'd rather much forget. Deciding to see what the noise was, just to appease to his own plucked nerves, John began to wander a bit before he found himself at the library, managing to see Sherlock fall from the rafters and down on the pillows. Shoulders slumping, John moved forwards, arms crossing his over chest. "You're seriously still trying to do this?"

 

Greg frowned slightly as his vampire started to wash him. "You were supposed to chase me," he grumbled, though he tilted his head so the vampire had better access. "What kind of person doesn't participate in a water fight c'mon man."

 

Sherlock stood, shooing some feathers from his vision. "It was annoying me," he stated simply, starting to walk over to the blond. The vampire felt a feather land in his hair, and plucked it out without much thought. "I've almost got it too," he grinned, tempted to bring John into a hug. The time they had been separated had not been long, but Sherlock had found himself bored.

 

"I don't do 'water fights'," Mycroft shook his head, raising a brow. "Even if I'm scorned royalty, I'm still royalty. I hardly think that titles allows water fights." He continued to scrub Greg down before letting the side of his lip twitch upwards. He let the sponge soak in the water before quickly raising it above Greg's head, letting it soak him before grinning. "There- that's my participation in your water fight. Happy?"

 

John grinned slightly. "Sure you have," He nodded his head, looking past Sherlock and to the sight of the damaged pillows and feathers around. "At least you're not flopping down on the actual floor this time." He flicked his gaze back to the vampire, noticing a feather on his shoulder and quickly brushing it off.

 

Greg snorted, splashing the vampire on the front now. "That was absolutely pathetic and you know it," he laughed, leaning onto Mycroft's chest and sighing softly. "Pompous git of a vampire," he chided lovingly, letting his eyes slide closed.

 

Sherlock raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Excuse you," he sniffed disdainfully, chest warming at John's touch on his shoulder. "Princes do not flop thank you very much." he brought a hand up check take John's hand in his own and inspect the dirt on it. "Get all the statues clean then?"

 

Again, the vampire gave another huff before letting his expression soften considerably as Greg closed his eyes, continuing to rub the man down, kissing the side of his head. If only others knew of this- Mycroft could hardly guess of what they would say. They would ridicule him, scorn him -or at least do so further. But that hardly mattered. None of what they said mattered. What mattered currently was Greg- well, honestly, that was what mattered to Mycroft most of all the time.

 

John had been meaning to make a small argument for that, considering Sherlock had done quite a lot of flopping just right there, though he was putting attention towards Sherlock’s hand. He'd never honestly paid attention to it- why would he have? But currently, he was beginning to realize it was rather big. Or at least far bigger than his own, with long, elegant fingers that were made to pluck at instruments. "Yeah. Or at least all of the ones I saw." He shrugged a bit.

 

Greg hummed, and couldn't sit still any longer. He loved Mycroft. He did, because the man had saved his life, he had cared so much, for everyone. He had held his head high as his family had ridiculed him. He was a rock, really, to him, and he held humor and beauty and kindness in his heart that Greg had loved for a long time yet had only just allowed himself to. The butler turned, pressing a soft kiss to the vampire’s lips. "I love you," he murmured, lips just touching. It needed to be said, their time together was finite, and he had to say it. "Love you," he said again, pressing himself closer to his vampire.

 

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, bringing Johns hand to his lips for only a moment, to which he also grazed his teeth along it lightly. "Are you sure you could reach the top of them," he asked, dropping the hand and grinning widely.

 

He words made a ghost of warmth bloom in his chest, Mycroft's eyes becoming slightly half lidded as he looked down at Greg. He did remember first seeing him set up in a line, looking so sad, and briefly wondering why. But that had been before he honestly even truly cared about human feelings. Yes, he had thought that humans shouldn't be treated like cattle, but that was simply because he knew they were sentient, not because he actually cared about feelings. Oh, if he had known how much one simple 'feeling' would impact him. "I love you too," He murmured, pecking another soft kiss to the mans lips. They only did have a small time though, didn't they? To say that to one another? Mycroft's chest clenched. "I love you," He pressed a kiss to Greg's forehead. "I love you," His cheek. "I love you." His lips again, peppering kisses around his face.

 

John the tiniest bit of heat rush to his ears at the kiss to the hand, feeling like a fool as he did so. Of course, that heat was gone at the question, the mans face forming a frown that he was trying to turn into a scowl. "Yes, I could reach the top of them!" He grumbled, placing his arms over his chest again. Alright, maybe not, but Sherlock didn't have to know that.

 

Greg mimicked his vampire, repeating the three words each time he said them, standing still and waiting until their lips touched once more and he sighed, wrapping his arms around the others waist without hesitation. "We're fucking tragic aren't we," he stated, pressing kiss after kiss along Mycroft’s chin. The comment was light hearted, but it held the dark truth. They were tragic, a doomed love. In any situation, Greg was doomed to die. He hesitated. They'd need to discuss it at some point. "So... No point even bringing up turning me?" He asked quietly, pulling away to meet Mycroft’s red eyes.

 

Sherlock mimicked his human, leaning forward and raising his eyebrows. "I think you're lying," he purred, fluttering his thick eyelashes. This was fun, teasing John. A lot more fun than wandering the halls like a lost ghost. "You're far too little." Sherlock bent his knees, so his face was level with John’s. "In a good way of course," he murmured, eyes liquidizing somewhat as he looked at Johns eyes. Sapphire, gorgeous. His face, worn but still handsome, everything about him, why hadn't he noticed this when he was first choosing the human? "Perfect," he breathed, though it wasn't meant to be out loud.

 

Mycroft swallowed thickly. That was the solution there. Turning him. But.....what if it didn't work? What if Greg died because of it? And what if it did work? Mycroft didn't very much like the idea of damning his partner in the way he was damned himself. "I... there's so much that could go wrong. You could die because of it. I... I am unsure if I could even handle bringing you into this life. It's not as wonderful as it may seem...." He murmured, looking over Greg.

 

John continued to huff and puff as Sherlock bent over, though didn't actually grow angry because he knew it was all just teasing. Of course, when the word 'perfect' was breathed as the vampire was practically staring at his face, almost seeming to examine him, John’s ears and cheeks grew a light shade of pink. He should have just swept the little word off, but he couldn't. He didn't even know why. His heart tugged slightly in his chest, and John leaned forwards quickly to press a quick kiss to the vampires lips, not minding that they were cold -honestly, his own lips had been aching to be connected with them again. "I'm not perfect, but that's for the compliment." He nodded his head, feeling a bit embarrassed. Well, more than just a bit, really.

 

Immediately Greg replied, cupping the vampires face with a wet palm. "Any negative connotations related to being a vampire would mean nothing if I could spend eternity with you," he murmured, though the words made him blush as he spoke. How cheesy.

 

Sherlock would have blushed, but he tried cutting off John with a kiss. He wasn't quick enough, but their lips connected, and Sherlock ran a hand down the back of Johns hair, savoring the feel of it run between his fingers. "Perfect," he said louder as he pulled back, meeting Johns eyes. "Every imperfection is perfect, meaning there are no imperfections." He trailed a hand down John’s cheek, grinning and pressing a light kiss there before he froze, eyes wide as an idea struck him. "Maybe I could throw you onto the rafters and then you could catch me and pull me up!" He broke into a grin, eyes sparking with manic energy.

 

Definitely a bit cliché, yes, but Mycroft didn't mind. Feeling worry build up inside him, Mycroft sighed, kissing Greg's forehead. "We will discuss this further later." He said simply. He needed to explain what Greg would go through- what he would have to experience as a fledgling, even during the changing. He didn't understand; Mycroft needed to make him understand.

 

The next kiss had been highly appreciated, John looking over Sherlock's face and unintentionally leaning back into the touch. That was- that was oddly nice. And a bit romantic. Oh Jesus- had he really just thought that? Romantic? Sweeping the thought off, blinking slightly as he felt Sherlock's hand brush across his cheek, the heat in his face growing slightly at the kiss. They were nice kisses- he was definitely going to have to get more of those. Of course, then the moment was efficiently ruined by Sherlock talking about throwing him up into the bloody rafter. "What-? No!" John shook his head. "First of all, I don't think I'd actually be able to catch you," He was getting better, sure, but he still wasn't all too strong, and certainly not strong enough to actually lift him up. "And second of all, if I fall down from there, a pillows not going to stop me from breaking my neck."

 

Greg pouted slightly, but he understood. This was a life changing- life taking topic. He could understand enough to let his vampire not talk about it if he so wished that. "I’m open to the idea, I just wanted you to know," he hummed, pressing a soft kiss to the vampires chin. "I can't- I don't want to leave you." He blinked slowly, and instead of kissing him again pulled him into a tight hug. He was safe, in Mycrofts arms.

 

Sherlock pouted slightly as he straightened. "I’d be able to catch you in time," he drawled, putting his hands on his hips. "We don't know if we don't try," he offered, creases forming between his eyes. "You have to do what I say?" He said, though his tone was uncertain and somewhat teasing.

 

Mycroft held Greg tightly against him, eyes shutting tightly as he buried his nose into the man’s neck, hearing the thrum of his heart beating, the blood rushing through his veins. He could always hear it, and though it grew fairly annoying when he was hungry and Greg wasn't willing to give anything to him that day, he couldn't help but be comforted by it. It meant Greg was alive- it meant he was perfectly human. Perfectly normal. Perfectly... mortal.

 

John raised a brow at the last part, his expression easily saying, 'really?', before he sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. "Fine." He huffed, looking at Sherlock with a tight lipped expression. "But I swear, if I fall and die, I'm blaming it on you." It was a joke, really, though quite a big part of John was worried that Sherlock wouldn't come right in time. But he would- John was sure of that. Maybe. Probably. Hopefully.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School sucks 
> 
> warning for all the stuff coming up  
> stay safe lovies and ENJOYXX

Greg hummed lightly, pulling back after a long moment and smiling with sad eyes. "Let’s make the most use of this bath hmm?" He asked, tilting his head and he slowly brought Mycroft down so their shoulders were immersed in the water.

 

Sherlock blinked at John. He knew the human was only kidding; it was obvious by the way he stood, but Sherlock didn't need to let John know of his knowledge until the final moment. He broke into a grin. He stepped forward, with an excited "Excellent," he picked John up around the waist. "Right, be prepared to grip onto the rafter immediately, you don't hang on you're falling to the ground like a rock, you take a few deep breaths, ready? Three two one!" He yelled like a sky diving instructor would just before a jump. The vampire mimed and held John above him as he swung him slightly, almost letting go on one but stopping, pulling John to his chest and cradling him before breaking into hysterical laughter.

 

Humming in agreement, Mycroft finally settled, trying to get the weight of the decision off of his shoulders as he closed his eyes for a moment, taking in the warmth of the water before grabbing the sponge again and continuing to clean Greg off. It was actually about time that the man had a proper bath, really- Mycroft had a rather acute sense of smell, and couldn't help but take in the scent of all orders.

 

John had been about actually ready to say a bloody prayer for him to live when Sherlock grabbed him by the waist and lifted him up, muscles tensed. _Oh god why did I ever even agree to this oh god oh god oh god_ \- that was pretty much all that went through his head before he heard Sherlock's rather manic laughter. Blinking and realizing what this was, John wriggled around, slapping Sherlock's chest as he scowled before stilling, glaring at the vampire. "You're awful, do you know that?" He growled, though in a way, it seemed in an almost fond sort of manner.

 

Sherlock widened his eyes, keeping his smile off his face for only a few moments before it appeared again. "Well all know I'm the funniest vampire out." He smirked, and pressed a chaste kiss to John’s forehead. "I can't believe you actually thought I was going throw you. I mean, John, you would have totally not been prepared; you had every muscle taught like a string. You would have crashed into it." He tutted softly for a moment, before setting John on the ground once more, ruffling his hair fondly.

 

Dusting himself off a bit and stepping away, John smiled despite his rather ruffled attitude, reaching out a hand and hitting Sherlock's arm lightly. "I'd like to see you act calm and not be nervous when someone just goes ahead and says they're going to throw you up towards the bloody ceiling...." His eyes flicked up to the rafters, then the scattered and rather mutilated pillows on the floor. He straightened out, letting his toe toy with a feather on the ground. "Are you going to actually clean this up, or let someone else do it?" He questioned, looking to the vampire.

 

Sherlock made a face. "Well, seeing as you wanted a job... You could go fix me some more up while I try a couple more times. After aaaaall, I'm not leaving here until I've done it." He looked pointedly at the blond. "Nothing could make me leave." Except fresh blood. He was kind of almost starving. Not really but he wasn't used to getting so bad without someone offering themselves to him. He'd be able to make it through a few more hours. "I need to do this John."

 

John raised a brow at that, almost taking it as some sort of challenge. "Nothing? Nothing at all?" He rocked on his heels the tiniest bit. What could make him leave? Well, the first thing that actually did come to mind was blood, though John honestly was beginning to think that the only way he'd actually be able to get Sherlock to drink was if he actually put his mouth on his neck. What else though?

 

Sherlock nodded earnestly. "Nothing at all. I won't be able to rest in peace if I haven't made this at some point in my life." He frowned, glaring up at the rafters. John looked slightly like he was scheming, which was an attractive look on him, but it also made Sherlock suspicious. "What are you thinking about?" He asked suddenly, watching the human with an intense gaze.

 

"Oh, nothing," John grinned, continuing to rock around a bit before stepping forwards towards the vampire. Well, there were a few more ways he could think of to get Sherlock off of the whole jumping up to the rafters thing. Honestly, John knew well that he probably wasn't going to actually make it up there, really, no matter how determined he was. But besides blood, there was- his stomach clenched slightly, though John pushed the feeling away. No, he was fine. It was only one time- it didn't matter. He was fine. He continued to grin, moving over to the pillows.

 

Sherlock tilted his head, eyes focusing intently on the human. "It doesn't seem like nothing," he stated, trying to figure out the grin. "You're scheming something," he said then, wanting to follow after the blond and force it out of him, but unable to do it. The look in John’s eye made Sherlock’s lungs constrict, and if he had a beating heart it would be slightly out of kilter. He didn't understand. What was happening? He frowned, watching John as he tried to figure it out. He wouldn't move until he was sure what was going on. And he still had to make the jump to the rafter anyway.

 

John scoffed, turning back to Sherlock. " _Scheming_?" He echoed, the word seeming ridiculous to what he was thinking. But honestly, he was putting those thoughts away for another time by now. Not- not because he was afraid or anything. It just wasn't the right time. Of course he wasn't afraid- why would he be? He was- he was fine. John picked up a pillow, brushing off feathers from it and checking to see if it wasn't totally split apart. "I'm not _scheming_. Just go and try to make your jump, alright?" He looked back to Sherlock, giving a small smile.

 

Sherlock smiled at the human, walking forward and quiet feet. He ran a soft hand down John's arm, and then tilted his head. "I will make it," he purred, leaning down and trailing his lips down Johns jaw. "And you are scheming." He stepped away, bounding up the side of the shelf, getting to the top and pausing. He had to make it. He couldn't make a dick of himself. "John! Move out of the way!" He called down, preparing himself by gripping the side and bending his legs a little bit, then he pushed off, and at first the leap seemed exactly the same as any other one, but instead of missing the rafter the tip of his fingers hooked on, and Sherlock let out a cry of achievement, flinging himself up onto the rafter and sitting there, looking down to John with a grin. "I told you I could do it!" He yelled down, crossing his legs and sitting up there as he peered down to the library with a pleased expression.

 

John watched him, still feeling a bit of a shiver going down his spine from the vampire’s plush lips against his jaw, the hand that went down his arm. He moved out of the way, though grinned as he saw Sherlock make it, putting a hand up. "You made it!" He put his hand on his hip, watching him up there.

 

Sherlock nodded. "I know. I'm the one who made it." He rocked slightly back and forth, putting the feeling of elation into his mind palace. It wasn't often he failed at things so repeatedly, but now he had succeeded he was rather pleased. "I don't want to come down," he informed, blinking slowly. He felt very high and mighty, at the top of the room, able to see every grand shelf and all the books. He could focus on any spine of any book, but he was more watching the human. His cheeks were slightly pink, his broad shoulders slightly tilted with the way he was setting his weight. He was absolutely gorgeous.

 

John raised a brow before grinning then, crossing his arms over his chest and turning on his heel. "Fine- stay up there. I'll just, you know-" He didn't finish the sentence, instead walking away, hooking his thumbs back into his waistband and giving it a small snap for no particular reason. Well, maybe a particular reason, but that hardly mattered.

 

Sherlock’s eyes widened considerably. He didn't hesitate to leap off the rafter then, free falling and preparing his knees as he landed with a huge crack of the ground. He slipped the energy of the fall into a roll, standing up and dusting himself off right next to the human. He narrowed his eyes slightly. "What are you doing?" He asked quickly, unsure what John was doing.

 

What was he doing, anyways? His stomach kept on clenching at the thought of what he had in mind. But perhaps that's why he wanted to do it. To show he wasn't scared- that he was okay. Because he was. What did he have to be afraid of? Nothing. Nothing at all. "Nothing." He shrugged a bit, looking back to Sherlock. "Just getting out 'cause you were apparently going to stay up there. But apparently not." His eyes flicked up towards the rafters.

 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes slightly. "Oh _please_ ," he purred, and he suddenly moved John backwards until he was cornered against the wall, unable to move anywhere without the vampire moving too. "You're obviously up to something." He heard the human’s heart rate pick up, and he frowned. He tilted Johns chin up with a careful finger. "Are you alright?" He asked softly, frowning now and not so worried about his 'plan'.

 

John couldn't help but honestly shrink back when Sherlock was so close, looming above him. He couldn't help the slight panic that burst in his chest, pulsing through his veins. This was just like- Sherlock was just like _him_ -

 

He reached up a hand, grabbing Sherlock’s collar and bringing him forwards, crushing their lips together. _No_ \- he wasn't afraid. This was _fine_ \- he wanted this. This wasn't a lie, actually- it had been so long since he'd had a touch, and Sherlock was rather handsome. Besides, John was sure he wasn't all too bad looking underneath his clothes. It was only _one time_. It _didn't matter_. Brows furrowing, John kept hold of the others collar, the kiss fierce and passionate, and... and afraid. _No_. No, no no no. He wasn't _afraid_. He wasn't afraid of this.

 

Sherlock let out a surprised noise, letting John crush himself against him and didn't need to breathe so he just waited patiently until John pulled back. He seemed determined, and the kiss was perfect and lovely but John’s racing heart was so contradictory that Sherlock stopped the human pulling him back. The vampire placed a careful hand to John’s chest, feeling the stuttering heart beat and giving a sad smile. "John," he said quietly. He knew what was happening. He'd smelt it before, on a person he'd been hunting before his brother had taken him away. Fear.

"Stop," he said, keeping himself away. "You're frightened stop."

 

Johns expression steeled, but the edges of his eyes were prickling. He couldn't- he couldn't _breathe_. Why couldn't he breathe?! It was just- oh _god_ , was he- was he having a panic attack? Oh god no _please_ \- "I'm- I'm not scared-" His voice cracked, panting the words out. "I'm _not_ -" He couldn't say anymore before he realized tears were already beginning to slip out. Putting his head in his hands, John shook his head. "I-I'm-" John was sobbing the words out. The kiss was burning his lips as he suddenly began to feel cold hands gripping his hips, nails piercing through the skin, teeth on his back and something thrusting into his- John broke down then, leaning forwards and putting his head against Sherlock’s chest.

 

Sherlock had already pieced himself a little story together. A reluctance to get near him, suddenly so upset. Sherlock wrapped his arms around the human, letting out a little hum, trying to calm the blond down. "John..." He murmured, not going over any lines and just holding him. He felt water soak through his shirt and he started careful circles on the back, quiet hushes and soft murmurs. The vampire felt a burning hatred. How something could do something so absolutely _disgusting_? He took very careful breaths through his nose. He couldn't get upset, he was helping John.

 

John clung to Sherlock tightly for several moments before his grip loosened, the sobbing turning into quiet hiccups. He wasn't fine. Not at all. It all hurt- every scar, every scratch. His insides were still clenching, and John couldn't deny it any further- he was afraid. God, was he afraid. Even with the knowledge that Sherlock would never intentionally hurt him, it was... it was painful. It was hard. It was frightening. After several minutes, John managed to calm himself down to a more mild level, breathing hitching, but he didn't let go of Sherlock. He was afraid of the questions now- the urging for answers. He hadn't wanted anyone to know- it hadn't been important. It _wasn't_ important. It was... it was nothing. But it was everything as well.

 

Sherlock felt the human calming down and pulled back slightly, he doubted the human would do so in his state, and found one hand was carefully running down John’s cheek. His blue eyes were pained and so, so scared, and Sherlock’s dead heart tightened. "I will not urge you into anything," he rumbled carefully, "talking or otherwise." He tilted the blonds head only a fraction, blinking slowly. "I just need you to know I'm here." His thumb started rubbing small circles over Johns jaw. It was a soft gesture, one he didn't think he'd make often, and nodded, pulling John back into a careful hug.

 

John nearly started sobbing again when Sherlock said that, instead simply sniffling and burying his head further into Sherlock’s chest and sighing softly. He was more than relieved to find he wasn't going to be asked anything. That was- that was beyond relieving, honestly. "Thank you," He whispered into the damp material.

 

Sherlock pressed a soft kiss to the blond curls, one hand moving up to run it through the hair, careful and loving. He didn't need to ask anything because he already knew. Sherlock was very furious at this point in time, he could barely breathe without wanting to his and swear and _kill_ , but he kept it contained. Reacting like that would do nothing to aid the situation.

 

John settled down well enough, sniffling a small bit and finally stilling, his breathing still stuttering a bit, but that was fine. It was better than sobbing. Why had he sobbed like that? He didn't even know why. One second, he had been determined to prove that he wasn't afraid, and now, he was absolutely terrified. "I'm sorry-" His tongue was stumbling over itself. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry...."

 

Sherlock managed to not roll his eyes by _that_ much. Of course, John, the selfless man he was, felt the need to apologize for a very justified breakdown. Sherlock pulled back now and again tilted John’s head up with a tuck to his chin. "John, in no way should you feel obliged to apologize. There is nothing to apologize for." He came forward to press a cold kiss to John's forehead. "Let’s just go to the music room and I can teach you scales on the piano hmm?" Anything to get the blonds mind off what was dragging him through the dirt would work. Even if it was something musical when Sherlock didn't even know if John was a musical being.

 

John sniffled, nodding his head as he pulled back, wiping at his eyes. "That'd be- that'd be good." God, he was so thankful Sherlock wasn't going to ask about any of this. He just wanted to forget it- or at least make Sherlock forget about it. John managed a small smile, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

 

Sherlock gave a sad smile. Jesus John looked young. He did most of the time of course, but right now, with his teary eyes and nose wiping, he looked very young indeed. "We'll clean up these pillows later," he said with a cheeky smile, though it felt too fake to even try and make jokes when the animal that was his rage was leaping and snarling in his chest. He took John's hand in his own, silently and slowly pulling him out of the library and into the hallways. It wouldn't take long to get there, but Sherlock would use this moment to calm John down even further. He rubbed small circles with his thumb on one spot, keeping the short human close.

 

Walking down the halls, John kept his eyes on the ground for a good portion of time before looking towards Sherlock with a small smile, letting it drop. He was a doctor- he knew that he wasn't supposed to just let everything fester inside till he exploded in another fit of sobs and tears. He would have to talk about it sometime. Not now though. Not now. Maybe- maybe sooner or later. But not now.

 

They eventually made it to the music room, and Sherlock brought John in a wide arc towards the piano, moving him carefully to sit before it, then sitting down beside the human. He tested the keys with ease, years and years of muscle memory making the action nothing more than a tiny thought. He titled his head, listening with his perfect pitch as he dragged a finger along the keys to play everyone, listening to any chord out. He paused, looking to John. "Did you hear which one was off?" He asked, canting a brow with a small smile. The piano calmed him down. A lot.

 

John looked to the keys, biting his lip and wiping his nose once again before he scanned them again. A part of him was wondering why he was doing this- mostly, he just wanted to curl up in a corner, or a closet, and just stay there for several hours till he possibly disappeared. But here he was, looking at the piano before pressing his finger to the key of his choice. "This one?"

 

Sherlock canted a brow. "Close," he hummed, pleased that John was playing along. He moved John’s finger a note downwards, and then let him press it. "That one is off by a semitone." He pressed it himself, and frowned, standing up quickly to open up the piano and pluck the strings, finding the right one. He found the little knob that he could twist, and looked at John. "Mind pressing it again until I tell you to stop?" He asked politely, pleased that this was something they could do together.

 

John nodded his head, continually pressing down on said key. This was good- this kept his mind of things. Keys and notes were simple, basic-  there was no tragic horror behind them or any reminder of what had once been. They were good. They were a distraction.

 

The vampire twisted the tuner so slowly, tilting his head until he was sure it was correct. He let it be pressed until he was sure, then he smiled. "Good, yeah, we're good." He stepped away, leaving the piano open as he went to sit back down next to John. He ran a hand along his shoulders carefully as he walked past, sitting down and pressing a few chords. The vampire looked up, smiling slightly. "Where would you like to start?" He asked, eyes sparkling with a life they didn't possess.

 

John had been quite wound up by the previous memories coming to light that it took a small amount of willpower not to actually flinch, but he managed all the same, taking in a breath and letting it out before he shrugged. "The basics, I guess. I never learned how to play the piano."

 

Sherlock let out a small huff. He wasn't a good teacher. He was, in fact, a terrible teacher, and he held no time for people who didn't catch onto things as quickly as he did himself. Which was most people. "Hmm," he said slowly, trying to think. What were the basics? He hadn't touched the basics of piano in so long. While he remembered, he looked at John. And he frowned slightly. His shoulders looked taught enough to snap. He wondered why, then blinked. "I'm sorry, I uh- didn't think about what I just did, I will- I won't do it again." He would put a hand out to touch John’s arm, but he didn't know if that would frighten him too.

 

This was what John had been afraid of. That someone would find out and treat him like a piece of glass, like he could break. He didn't want to be coddled. He didn't want to be pitied. "No- it's fine. You can- you can do that. I don't care- it's fine." He gave a small smile, hoping to reassure the other and articulate that it was fine. That he didn't want to be treated like glass. That he didn't want to be coddled. Because he didn't need it; or at least didn't want it.

 

That annoyed Sherlock. It did. John was obviously not fine, yet he was welcoming touch when it made him uncomfortable. "John," he said softly, looking at him slightly incredulously. "It's obviously not fine. You can't just- get over this kind of thing so quickly." He leant back from the piano, looking at John intently. "You can't just... Expect to able to be touched and hugged like its nothing." He pursed his lips.

 

John glanced to the vampire before looking away, the presence of hands ghosting over him again. He was trying rather hard to shake the feeling off. "It is nothing." His voice was quiet. "It doesn't even matter- it was only one time." John curled into himself just a tiny bit, the action barely visible. "I made sure it was only one time." Yes, the other handlers had made plenty of more advances, but John hadn't been so stupid. He hadn't been so brave. He knew how to escape now- he'd been doing so for two years. The other times... they didn't count. It hadn't been the same as _that_ , so they didn't count. John was making himself believe they didn't count.

 

Sherlock swallowed. He turned almost completely to face the human. "I'm letting this drop until you can say you're not alright. The first step to recovery is acknowledgement." He put a hand out to touch John's knee. If he had to, he would push John slightly to realise that no, he was definitely not okay. He blinked slowly, watching the man like a hawk. He couldn't let this drop.

 

His muscles coiled at the touch, John’s eyes going down to the hand, heart stuttering in his chest -and not in the good way, either. He sucked in a breath, trying to get it to calm a bit before looking up to Sherlock, meeting his eyes as best as he could. No- he had cried. He was fine now. It didn't matter, it didn't count, _it didn't matter_. "I don't need to- to do this- this _recovery_." He snapped, though his voice was continually pausing and hiccuping, John’s hand trembling as he swept away the vampire’s hand, standing up. "I'm _fine_. I keep telling you I'm fine, and now I am. I cried, it's fine- _I'm fine_." He didn't notice that he was shaking till he looked down at his hand, his whole arm trembling. Feeling stupid and embarrassed and ultimately frightened, John turned and left as quickly as he could.

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would think of something creative to say but I'm too tired
> 
> Keep yourselves safe my little munchkins and keep an eye on our boys... stuff's going down 
> 
> ENJOY XX

Sherlock stood too, guilt twisting his gut slightly as he followed after the human. "John, you _know_ you're not. Stop denying it." The vampire walked so he was next to the blond. He couldn't make himself touch the man again, if a hand to the knee had caused this, he couldn't go any further without freaking John out. "You need to take some slow breaths and stop walking." He turned so he was standing in front of the human, meaning he couldn't move without walking into the vampire.

 

John looked up to Sherlock, trying to already calm his breathing, but he wasn't going to just stop. He just- he needed to be alone, where no one could touch him or talk about it or- or anything. "Sherlock, _get out of the way_." He hesitated for several moments before putting his hand against the vampire’s chest, moving it to his shoulder and pushing there instead. "Just- move. I don't want to talk about this." Panic was welling in his stomach again, and fear was making his legs shake. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to deal with it. He didn’t want to be broken anymore.

 

The vampire blinked slowly. John couldn't keep running away from this. He didn't move. Because John couldn't move on if he stayed deliberately ignorant. "Why do you keep avoiding it? You can't do that. John, you need to look at this in the face." He grit his teeth, looking at the ground. He had told the human he wouldn't push him. "Okay." He said, stepping to the side. "Just... Be careful." He took a slow breath. "I'll be in the music room." He turned away without another word, going back the way he'd come from.

 

John watched him go, and something tightened in his chest. No- he'd been lying. He didn't... he didn't want to be alone. He didn't want to be alone with this- he'd been alone for those times, those horrid times. Alone meant no distractions- just him, and his thoughts, which led to memories, which led to- to....not very good things at all. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again, watching the vampire go. He was crying again -dammit, he was, he was fucking crying again- and it hurt and his scars were burning and- "Sherlock," His voice seemed small, and broken. Quite like him at the moment. But no- he couldn't just 'face this'. It hurt too much. Couldn't the vampire tell how much it hurt? No- no, obviously, he couldn't. How could he? "I... I don't know what to do." How could he ever try to just get over this? It hurt and it burned and it... it just... John didn't know.

 

The vampire stopped, and turned slowly. Oh god he wanted to go take John up in his arms. He took a slow breath, eyes sad. "Come here," he murmured, letting John approach him instead of the other way around. "Just, come here." There would be no way he'd walk towards the human. He was so frightened. He blinked quickly. "We can- go to the music room again." He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Please, don't be scared of me."

 

Hiccupping, John came forwards towards the vampire, tears blurring his vision. He finally came up to Sherlock, wrapping his arms around the other and feeling rather awful for continuing to make his shirt dirty with his tears and snot. He wasn't scared of Sherlock, god no. Not at all. He was just afraid of those ghost hands, those hands that gripped and slapped and tore and mauled. They weren't Sherlock’s hands, he knew, but god it was hard to remember that sometimes. "I- I don't w-want to be br-roken...." He whispered into the shirt, feeling awful and sick and stupid and horribly, horribly broken. Why was he so?

 

Sherlock didn't move his hands; he kept them at his side, as he made quiet noises that he hoped were supportive. "You're not broken. You're perfect, beautiful, gorgeous. Someone has just been disgusting enough to mar that temporarily. You're fine, perfect, amazing. We just need to confront this." He slowly brought his arms up, placing a feather light touch upon Johns back. "We need to- talk. Or, sit, or touch or something. We can't just ignore. Not if it's this bad. I have, vampire acquaintances who may come around and try to do things to you," Alexander, "You need to be able to be strong."

 

John buried his head further into Sherlock’s chest. He- people would do that? Why? _Why_? It- he was done with it. He'd done his part in being strong. He'd been strong for two long fucking years- he found a safe place now. But no place was safe. He had to remember that. Always remember that. "I- I think I can talk." He said softly, quietly. John could try. That was the least he could do- try.

 

Sherlock pulled back, wiping John’s cheeks with his thumbs and then wiping away his tears, lips pursed with worry. "Are you completely sure?" His gaze flicked between each of John’s eyes, making sure he was strong enough for this. But... Of course he was. John was so strong. He'd be strong enough.

 

John sniffled slightly, nodding his head. He was sure he'd be fine- it would be fine. He- he had to face this anyways, right? Sherlock said he had to. Talking about it.....that would be facing it. Wouldn't it? Yeah.

 

Sherlock nodded then too, tempted to pick John up so they could get back to the music room in less time. "Come then," he murmured, moving a hand down to take Johns in his own. "We'll go as slowly as you need, it can take all day if it must, I won't push." He started walking, slowly. "Which room would you like to be in hmm?" He'd give John that luxury. This would be hard enough as is.

 

John kept a tight grip on Sherlock’s hand, knowing it wouldn't hurt the vampire. That was quite a nice thing- he could squeeze his hand or hold him so tight that some people would find it painful, but not Sherlock. But perhaps not being able to be hurt by John physically was also a bad thing. Never mind- now wasn't the time for those kind of thoughts. "I don't know... somewhere private. I don't- I don't want anyone else to hear." He said quietly.

 

Sherlock nodded. "My room then," he said softly. John was so fragile at the moment, any wrong move and he would break, snap, and then he'd be irreparable. They started the slow careful walk to Sherlock’s room, and the vampire prayed that the fact that it was a bedroom wouldn't deter him. He wouldn't try anything. How could he?

 

A part of John grew rather nervous at the fact that they were going to Sherlock’s bedroom of all places, but he knew well that the vampire wouldn't try anything. He had to keep remembering that, really. "Alright-" he nodded his head. "Alright." John couldn't help but feel agitated, behind the nervousness and anxiousness. Sherlock was treating him like a piece of china, and he knew it. That wasn't what he had wanted- this wasn't even supposed to happen. It was all because he wasn't strong enough, he wasn't tough enough, he just couldn't ever _forget_.

 

Sherlock made sure they took their time walking. They couldn't move too quickly through this, and when they got to the room, Sherlock’s mind was whirring at how he could make John the most comfortable without feeling trapped. "Right, do you want the door open? You on the bed and me on the chair? The other way around? Would you like to sit with me on the bed instead?" His tone was calm and careful; this was all John's choice. The vampire opened the door carefully, and he waited for John's reply.

 

John thought about it for a second. "Door closed," He could easily open it if he chose to. "I'll sit in the chair- you.....you can sit on the bed." He seemed hesitant to be giving a form of command over this whole situation, but it made him feel quite a bit better. He didn't want to sit on the bed, and not with Sherlock either. He just... he couldn't.

 

Sherlock nodded, letting John through the door first then closing it behind them softly. He then let go of John's hand, giving a reassuring smile, and went to the bed, sitting down to face the chair, and crossing his legs in a threatening position. "Take all the time you need," he murmured, and he waited patiently for the human. There would be no rushing him. Not today. No jokes or snide remarks. Nothing.

 

John took a seat, looking to Sherlock and swallowing thickly. He should start. But how? How could he possibly talk about this? "I... in the whole... trafficking system, it's not... it's not uncommon for people to be..." It took almost a full minute to get the word out. "....raped in- in there." That was it- the word. That word. "I knew that then. And... I never thought it would be me, because why would it be me? I wasn't- I wasn't anything anyone would want like that." He shook his head. His hands were clutching the arms of the chair tightly. "I was just beaten and all that, and I was fine with that. I could handle that. But there was this one- I- I didn't- I don't remember his name, or who he was, or anything... but he watched me a lot. And- and I tried not to think anything about it, you know? I had- I had better things to think about then. But then he started- he started touching. Not- not really bad touching. I mean, yes, it was sort of bad but- I just tried not to think about it." John shook his head again. "And then he started putting hands down- down there and- and-" He couldn't even breathe. John’s hands were shaking. But he kept going. It was hard to stop. "I wasn't on guard one day and he just- he got me down and there- he-" John’s eyes had grown distant, glazed as he recounted what had happened. "Tied me down. It was- he said he liked how I struggled sometimes. Liked my fight. More lively and- and all that." The hands were ghosting around his hips, shoulders, thighs. It hurt. "And then he- um, you know, just- just started. And all I could remember was- was how much it _hurt_." His hands were shaking now, knuckles white, nails piercing into the chair. But he didn't cry. He didn't stop. "Did it another time- that. He got sick of me managing to get away, so he- uh- he knocked me out and- and- yeah." John was completely and utterly still. He didn't even look like he was breathing.

 

Sherlock sat completely frozen as John spoke. How anyone could do something so _absolutely disgusting_ \- Sherlock took a slow breath, watching the human and wanting to go over there and hold him, caress him, but he knew, if John had ever been inclined to forgive his kind before that moment, he definitely was not ever going to now. Any statement to John about how it was 'alright now', and 'it will never happen again', would be a mistruth. It could always happen again. And it definitely was not alright now. When John was finished, Sherlock’s hands were clenched so tightly he was sure they would implode on themselves. But he managed to keep his voice soft and calm. "I'm sorry." And that was all he could say. If he could say anymore he would break down, want to scream and yell and punch and kick and _kill_. How dare anyone- Sherlock watched the human instead, trying to calm the rapid non-existent beating of his dead heart.

 

John felt like he was choking- he couldn't breath, couldn't think, couldn't even begin to try and do anything. "You weren't the one to do it- you shouldn't be sorry." He managed after several moments of silence. But it was the truth- there was no use in saying sorry now. Honestly, there was no use in saying sorry at all.

 

Sherlock gave a stiff nod, leaning back onto his elbows so he could glare at the ceiling instead of John. "I'm sorry it happened to you," he elaborated. "And that my kind is so sick, and disgusting." He spat the words, but quickly reigned it in. "I'm sorry I can't turn back the clock, I'm sorry I can't kill the bastard." He flicked his gaze momentarily to the human. "There's a lot to be sorry for."

 

John thought that it would be rather satisfying if he could watch Sherlock possibly kill him, but that much was impossible. "There's nothing to do about it now." His voice was stiff, and he swallowed thickly once again.

 

Sherlock sat up and blinked slowly. "I want to be able to hold you," he said softly. "I want to be able to do that for you. But I can't. That's all that I could do about it but I can't." He frowned, and his hands twitched. They wanted to harm something. But they couldn't. "I'm sorry John." And Sherlock had never felt so sincere in his life.

 

John closed his eyes, looking away from a second before biting his lip, standing, and coming towards Sherlock. The natural human instinct to seek contact was coming into play quite a lot as he hesitantly wrapped his arms around Sherlock, careful and quiet as he did so.

 

The vampire sat impossibly still as John hugged him, and then he waited for a few moments before wrapping his arms around John carefully too, moving him cautiously onto his lap, where he almost cradled the human, pressing a soft kiss to the blonds forehead. "So strong," Sherlock murmured, running his fingers slowly up and down John’s arm and he met the humans gaze. So fragile and he needed to be so so careful, lest he break the human physically or emotionally again.

 

John had buried his head into Sherlock’s neck, not minding all too much that he was basically on the others lap, simply staying there. H also didn't mind the fact that Sherlock was pressing small kisses to his forehead, honestly, the man finding it comforting, loving. He watched Sherlock for a long moment, their gazes exchanging multiple unknown things before John gently pressed a small kiss to Sherlock’s lips, gentle and soft, letting it linger before pulling away, burying his head back into the others chest.

 

Sherlock let John kiss him, and while he so wanted to kiss him again, he just let the taste linger, and John cuddled him, Sherlock wishing not for the first time that he could be warm, that he would be able to provide the comfort John actually needed, instead of the type he was settling on.

 

John simply stayed there on Sherlock’s lap, not minding the cold, nor the fact that Sherlock was simply staying still. It was good that he wasn't doing anything- it was definitely good. He didn't need someone to hold him- he just needed to hold someone.

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting a head cold and i'm tired, yet school doesn't care
> 
> yay
> 
> however, i hope you guys are well and...
> 
> ENJOYXX
> 
> ps the end is niiiiiiiigh  
> like chapters nigh not we'll be done next week or anything  
> the final chapter is like... in the twenties :P

Greg looked at his hands. "I'm getting all wrinkly," he complained, looking to Mycroft with a soft pout. The water was still warm, and Greg could have happily stayed in there for as long as he needed, but as he had just stated, he was getting all gross and wrinkly, and he was definitely clean enough. "Come on Myc, let's get out and go get something to eat." To complete his sentence, Greg's stomach rumbled softly, and the butler blushed.

 

Rolling his eyes a bit at human needs, Mycroft got out of the bath, getting a fluffy towel from side and putting it around his waist. "Come then- I wouldn't want you to starve." He held out a hand to help the human up, holding another towel in his other one.

 

The butler stepped out of the bath and shook his head like a dog. "While I go make lunch," he started casually, and he carried the tone through, "you can think of every reason why you don't want me to be a vampire, and why it's a bad idea." He grinned, though it was slightly pained, and he started to towel himself off, quickly covering the statement with another sentence. "I wonder if I can get Sherlock to cook me something. I heard he had some culinary prowess." He raised his eyebrows, walking back into the bedroom and picking up his clothes. He would prefer clean ones, but these would get him to the kitchen without blinding anyone.

 

"I highly doubt it," Mycroft scoffed, though his chest clenched at the human words. He was already beginning to think of plenty of reasons why it was a horrible idea. He eyed what he could see of the human’s bum while he could before tearing his eyes away then, wondering where exactly his brother was now.

 

Greg pulled his clothes on, ruffling up his hair and looking back to his naked vampire. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me love," he hummed, walking out the room to the kitchen as quickly as he could. He was really hungry.

 

Mycroft smirked, laying back on the bed and sighing. He didn't want to think about Greg dying. In fact, those were thoughts he was continually choosing to avoid. After a moment or two he got up, rummaging through his closet for a nice little suit to wear before dressing, gliding down towards the kitchen after the human.

 

Greg decided on banana on toast, which was probably the most of his cooking skills. That was probably not a good thing, seeing as he was the butler, but it's not like the people he served would appreciate a seven course meal. Unless of course it had blood pudding in it. Greg snickered at his own amusing thoughts, sitting at the bench and munching on his bread. Still a classic, still delicious.

 

Coming behind Greg, Mycroft thought once of scaring the man before deciding against it, instead sliding down gracefully beside him and looking over to the man with something near adoration. "How exactly is that? Bananas on bread?" He liked to ask how food tasted sometimes, really. It was interesting to know, to remember.

 

Greg thought for a second. "Well, it takes kinda like banana, on bread." He grinned, taking another bite. "Very very nice," he smiled slightly. They would have the conversation at some point, they couldn't avoid it forever, "There's the savoury in the bread, and then the sweetness of the banana. It's very nice." He shrugged, finishing off one piece and sucking the tips of his fingers with little pops.

 

"Very descriptive...." He grinned, watching the human with slight amusement. Mycroft felt a certain dread in his stomach. Oh- he knew that avoiding the conversation would do no one any good, honestly, and he knew well that the logical decision was to simply start it and get it over with, but- Mycroft nearly snarled. Sentiment was truly a dreadful, if not wonderful, thing.

 

Greg watched his vampire, gaze cautious and careful. "Did you taste before you were a vampire?" He asked, before delving even further, not giving Mycroft a chance to reply. "Can you even taste things as a vampire? Like... Can you eat chocolate and taste it?" His tone was almost like it was excited, or just every eager to get the reply. After all, he hadn't asked a vampire this before.

 

Mycroft pursed his lips in thought. "Of course I tasted before I was a vampire," He wrinkled his nose slightly, though his expression softened considerably as he saw Greg's eagerness for the answers. It was rather... endearing, really. "And I can taste certain things. Basic things- sour, sweet, the like. Most things, compared to blood unfortunately, taste awfully bitter." Ah- yet another curse of being a member of his kind.

 

Greg sighed slightly. "I can't believe you can't taste chocolate," he sighed forlornly. "But you have tasted banana on bread before right?" He asked, looking intently at the vampire.

 

Mycroft raised a brow slightly, as if silently questioning he was serious before turning his head to the side. "Sadly, I haven't. Back two hundred years ago, we didn't exactly eat banana on bread."

 

Greg gaped slightly. To have not tasted banana on bread. It was pretty much blasphemous. It was Greg's favourite breakfast. "Well crap Myc, that's just-" he shook his head, pretending he couldn't even finish the sentence. Thinking quickly, he said, "But I guess I could live without tasting stuff. And I don't particularly hate bitter foods." He blinked, looking to his vampire, gaze suddenly serious.

 

Oh, he was getting onto this again. Mycroft's once suddenly soft expression hardened slightly, seeming more tired than angry at the moment. "Gregory, I hardly think you could stand only living with bitter foods, more or less living with them for....well, forever." He shook his head.

 

Greg scrambled for an excuse. "Yes, but then I'd also be with you forever, so you'd be there for me to complain to." He raised his eyebrows. "So it wouldn't be as bad." Was this what he really wanted though? He did want to live with Mycroft forever, he did, more than anything, but death? "Because I love you, and I don't want you be alone for forever."

 

Mycroft raised both brows now before his expression flattened out, eyes narrowing. "Greg... listen to me when I tell you this: being immortal is an awful thing. It's a curse, honestly. Everything that comes with it is more than awful. I never wished to be in this sort of life- no one does. It's... it's not something you should want. Not at all. You won't be able to enjoy the sunlight; you'll have to feed off of people for blood. And when you're a newborn, you don't have any control. Do you know how many people I killed, just as a fledgling? How many Sherlock killed?" He shook his head. "It's not something you would ever want. I won't be alone anyways- I'll have Sherlock, and Mrs. Hudson. I will be fine. I will always miss you... but I will be fine."

 

Greg stared at his banana on bread while Mycroft spoke, and he pursed his lips, suddenly not hungry. This was so annoying. And pointless. And he loved Mycroft so much. "I hate it so much when you're right," he breathed, still staring at his abandoned food. He blinked. Were his eyes welling up? No, they couldn't be. He turned to Mycroft, and swallowed thickly, before threw his arms around the vampires neck. "I hate it so much," he sobbed out. What the hell? He hadn't even- nothing had- what was this?! He couldn't leave Mycroft alone and then he would be fine and then he'd be forgotten and Mycroft would fall in love again because Greg was just a human and easily forgettable. What was that saying? Time heals all wounds. Greg pulled at the ends of Mycroft’s hair to distract himself. Oh god he wasn't usually this emotional. What was he- a teenage girl?

 

Mycroft had been preparing for some kind of fight, some kind of argument, but the scent and sight of sorrow was something that hit him like a wave it nearly winded him, honestly. Swallowing thickly, Mycroft didn't have a clue as to what to do before Greg was suddenly clinging to him, and the vampire couldn't help but cling back. He controlled himself so it wouldn't be too tight, but it was so _hard_. He shut his eyes tightly at the sobbed words, stroking the back of Greg's hair. "Sh...hush yourself, Gregory... it’s alright-" But it wasn't. Not at all. It was just unfair.

 

Greg pulled back at Mycroft’s words and shook his head. "No," he said, meeting those red irises and gritting his teeth. "It's not." His vision was still blurry as he got out of the vampires grip and stepped away, feeling like an idiot. He put his hands into his hair and turned, so his back was to Mycroft and looked at the plate on the bench. "It's not," he repeated, stepping forward and feeling somewhat akin to fury as he picked up the plate and threw it on the ground. "It's not bloody fair!" And he stared at the shattered china, at the crushed banana on bread. He let out a few heavy breaths, keeping his back turned. He was an idiot. He was too emotional. Why couldn't he be neutral?

 

Mycroft twitched slightly when he heard the china shatter, but did nothing else as he watched Greg, simply waiting a moment or two before standing up, carefully putting a hand on the others shoulder. "If you wish to take your anger out on something, I suggest it be me than something breakable..." He said quietly before sighing, taking a breath himself. "...I told you this would be hard, make the emotional attachments, when you asked me if this was a relationship or not." He kept the same tone of voice even now, watching the human with sad, old, tired eyes.

 

Greg tensed as he felt Mycroft's hand on his shoulder and dropped his head, staring at his shoes. "I'm sorry Myc." He murmured, sniffing and blinking furiously. "I'm just being an idiot." He looked up and rolled his shoulders, turning back to his vampire. "Just ignore me, or... Ignore that. Just forget the last ten minutes alright?" He raised his eyebrows, clinging onto the vain hope that maybe he could just clean up the mess and they could be done with it, no more memories of him being idiotic.

 

Frowning deeply, Mycroft now placed both hands onto the others shoulders, squeezing them for a moment. "First, do not call yourself an idiot. I would never fall in love with an idiot. It's a simple fact." He said in a firm, but neutral voice. "Second, I could hardly ever ignore you. You never allow me to do so, really." His lips quirked up for a second before dropping back down. "Third... this isn't something either of us should be ignorant of. At least not fully." His hands slid from the others shoulders with a small sigh. "I know this is... difficult, for the both of us, but..." Mycroft's hand came up again, taking Greg's chin between his fingers, tilting it up a bit to get him to look away from his shoes. "Please do know that I love you. I always will love you. Even when you are long gone, I will." He leaned forwards, pressing a gentle kiss to the human’s lips.

 

Greg leant into the kiss before he pulled away, managing a small smile as he slid his arms around Mycroft’s waist and pulled their hips together. He touched their foreheads together and murmured, "If you ever stop loving me you know I'm going to haunt you," he said, and he pressed another small kiss in place. "And I'll love you forever too, even if you are a stubborn git and you're kinda pale." His own words made the butler grin, and as he felt himself grow happier he felt the bad feelings get pushed to the back of his mind. They had forever until they had to deal with this. It was fine. For the moment.

 

Mycroft smiled as well, though the negative thoughts and feelings were hardly pushed back into the back of his mind. It was at the forefront, actually, though honestly most things were. He had learned to organize his thoughts in a way that he could try to easily ignore one, but never truly he ignorant. Ignorance was never a good thing.

 

Greg carded a hand through Mycroft's hair before pulling completely away and turning to look at the mess on the floor. He tutted slightly, and let out a small breath. "I may as well clean this up now," he drawled, brushing lightly past the vampire to search under the sink for a dustpan and a cloth. He was an idiot, despite what Mycroft said. But he didn't feel upset anymore, he just didn't particularly want to clean it up.

 

The vampire watched him calmly, simply standing there. From now on, he would cherish every moment he had with the human. Every single second counted as something. Perhaps he should start now, really, but it was hardly right to make cleaning up a plate that was broken in a fit of anger something intimate. Later, he decided. Later.

 

Greg set about cleaning up the plate with a slight frown. Tempers were terrible really. You'd destroy something in anger and then you'd just have to clean it up again. He got it all in the pan, and stood, looking at Mycroft, and he smiled hugely at his expression. "Earth to Mycroft," he snickered, walking past him to the rubbish. "Come in Mycroft."

 

Sherlock hadn't moved. He wasn't going to anyway. But it had been a long time, and he was slightly worried for the blond. "John?" He asked quietly, rubbing a thumb over the human’s cheek. "Do you want something to eat? I can go make you something." He didn't want to think about his own hunger, for one, because he wouldn't bring himself to drink from John at present time, especially while he was in a state.

 

Blinking slightly, Mycroft raised a brow, watching the human go by. "I do copy, Lestrade." He grinned slightly, moving behind the man as he threw everything away, placing his arms around his waist.

 

John had honestly felt like simply curling up into a small ball until he became almost nonexistent. But he felt empty, and knew well that even if this was... happening, whatever was going on, he still needed to keep himself healthy. "Yes." He whispered, nodding his head and swallowing thickly.

 

Greg spun, chuckling slightly. "That sounded so weird," he stated, wrapping his arms around the vampire too. He pulled them together, pressing a soft kiss to Mycroft’s lips. "How's it up in space aye?" He asked, tilting his head slightly and pressing a few other kisses around the vampire’s cheeks.

 

Sherlock nodded too, and scooped John up in his arms, cradling him like a child. He pressed a kiss to the human’s head, but upon deciding that John probably did not want to be babied in such a way, moved him so he was standing. The vampire supported almost his entire weight, and he used a hand to tilt John's face up, brow furrowed with concern. "Are you sure? You can lay in bed and rest if you wish; I'll come back up with something." Sherlock was slightly afraid John would just collapse if put under too much pressure too soon, this was actually a big worry for him.

 

"It's alright," Mycroft gave a small shrug, grinning as he pressed another kiss to Greg's lips. "But there is only one star I truly do wish to see that is not in the sky, but rather on Earth." Very cheesy, very cliche, but Mycroft was rather proud of his own romantic talk, really.

 

He knew that Sherlock was handling him like a baby, which he didn't like, but even he knew that he was fragile at this time. His hands were trembling slightly as he nodded. "That sounds- that sounds good." His voice, for a reason unknown, sounded hoarse and raw and awfully small, as he felt at the moment. He thought talking about it would make it better. It had, a bit, but remembering everything was... painful.

 

Greg blinked, and against his entire being, he felt his cheeks heat up. "Oh yeah, must be a pretty sexy star," he said, trying not to scoff. This was- what was he doing? Flirting? He already had Mycroft in the bag... Why was he doing this?

 

Sherlock nodded again, running a soft hand down John’s cheek. "You get into bed love, I'll make you something." He hadn't exactly meant for the pet name to fall out, but before he could give himself the chance to regret it, he pressed a careful kiss on John's head and left the room, closing the door behind him.

 

Mycroft chuckled. "Yes- the sexiest." He let go of Greg then, moving to the other side of the room and picking up a banana from a bowl. "Are you going to make more banana on bread?" He questioned, raising a brow.

 

John blinked slightly at the small name, smiling just a bit as he settled into the bed, pressing his head against the pillow and trying to focus on the comfort that Sherlock brought rather than anything else.

 

Greg shrugged. "I could survive off kisses from you," he tried, but after a moment he shook his head and laughed. "Just kidding I'm so hungry." He took the banana and started slicing it up, looking up and raising his eyebrows. "Hey Sherlock, how's it?"

Sherlock blinked, having not expected people to actually be around. "I'm alright," he replied somewhat absently, moving to the cupboard straight away.

Greg looked to Mycroft and raised his eyebrow in question. Sherlock was obviously not alright, but the butler didn't want to pry.

 

Mycroft raised a brow at his brother’s sudden appearance and behavior. Exchanging a look with Greg, the vampire moved towards his brother, a bit cautious. "Sherlock," He started, frowning a small bit. "Is everything alright?"

 

Sherlock started, and frowned. John wouldn't want his story outed, but he certainly couldn't say that everything was fine, because it wasn't and Sherlock found himself unable to lie convincingly on the matter. "John is unwell, not physically by mentally, and I'm trying to help him but I'm worried." He turned to his brother and shrugged slightly, harbouring a lopsided frown.

Greg looked up, frowning too. "Does he want some Lestrade famous banana on bread? I’d be happy to make it for him." He gave a reassuring smile, and the younger Holmes blinked. "Of course Gregory, that would be brilliant." He moved then to the bench, sitting himself at the bench and watching the marble. How could help John? He was all that the human was terrified of. He let out a small sigh.

 

Mycroft, being as terribly nosy as he was, couldn't help but want to know what exactly had happened to Watson to cause him to be mentally unwell. Raising a brow, he slid in beside his brother, looking over him curiously. "What happened?" His voice was low enough that Greg couldn't possibly hear him with his own rather dulled human senses. "Tell me the truth."

 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. Holmes' were naturally curious, but he felt as if it would be breaching some sort of trust he and John might have. "If you want to know, you bloody ask him," he hissed viciously, tempted to literally snap at his older brother. "It's not my place to say, and you're over stepping your boundaries by asking.” His lip was curled, and he was almost growling.

 

The elder Holmes was taken aback by his brother’s sudden harshness in his tone, blinking several times before leaning back. "I'm guessing that it was something horrid." He said simply, looking down at the table solemnly. 

 

Sherlock sniffed. "No, Mycroft, it was worse." He stood, and began to pace, unable to stay still.

Greg looked up from his banana chopping, narrowing his eyes with a frown as he watched the two vampires. It didn't look calm

 

Worse then. Usually, Sherlock wouldn't get worked up like this if it wasn't something important. Neither Holmes liked to get into to emotional sort of situations, but John,.. well, Mycroft hadn't a clue as to what was going on with them, honestly. "I see." He said rather lamely, looking to his brother with a bit more caution.

 

"The bread's finished Sherlock," Greg said quietly as he watched the younger vampire.

Sherlock looked up and walked over, muttering a quick, "Thank you," before stopping in front of his brother. His tone was slightly tight as he said, "Brother, you don't see." And he left the kitchen, shoulders tight and expression blank.

 

Well. That didn't give him all too much to review. He couldn't simply deduce what was going on without seeing John himself, though Mycroft was nearly positive that Sherlock would possibly try to tear his throat out if he even tried to interview John on his sudden lack of mental stability. The elder Holmes looked over to his human, raising a brow, but stayed in his spot instead of attempting to follow after his brother.

 

Greg frowned at Sherlock's back, raising an eyebrow at his vampire. "Do you know _anything_ about that?" He asked, getting himself a new piece of bread out. "He looks wild," the butler’s lips were slightly pursed, and his eyebrows were furrowed with concern.

 

The vampire made sure he started calming himself down before he got to the door, completely possessive feelings getting shoved down. By the time Sherlock opened the door carefully, he was almost silent. "Gregory made you banana on bread," he hummed, voice calm and careful.

 

"I don't know yet," Mycroft was still watching the space where Sherlock had gone from, narrowing his eyes a bit. "But I will find out." And he would. Nothing was kept a secret from him, and especially nothing that was going on in this household.

 

John had managed to calm himself down quite a bit, sitting up and shutting his eyes, focusing on... well, nothing. He focused on the bed. On his hands. On the rug. On the ceiling. Little things that held some to no importance, but at least they held no reminders either. He was honestly quite a bit better than how he had been before, though the fragility of the man was still evident in the way he looked. John was rather proud of himself when he didn't jump at the sound of the door opening, looking over calmly and offering a twitch of a smile. "I'll have to thank him," His voice was still rather quiet, despite the room itself being deathly silent.

 

Greg walked over to Mycroft with his snack, still frowning. "It seemed like he was strung tight. Are you sure you should meddle?" He put an arm on Mycroft's shoulder. "Leave John be yeah?" It was a request, not strongly worded, more an ask for a friend

 

Sherlock came and sat on the edge of the bed, placing the plate on the bedside table before he went to sit back on the chair by the bed. He didn't want to crowd him while he ate. And anyway, he was rather craving, and John's heart beat was so tempting. It sounded strong, slightly quick, but fine.

 

Looking over to the other man, Mycroft sighed, hesitating before nodding his head. "I will. For now, at the very least. Something is wrong, Gregory, and Sherlock can barely deal with his own mental stability at the moment- how is he supposed to care for John's as well. I'm simply worried for the both of them..." The vampire sighed, looking down to the ground.

 

John took the plate and put it onto his lap, picking up the bread and taking small, nibbling bites before actually taking a moderate sized bite, finding he was hungry. Or he was making himself think he was actually hungry. He didn't know. John remained silent all the while, finding it a bit easier with Sherlock there. He was a form of protection at the moment. Yes, he was a vampire, John knew that well, but it was... it was different. It was safer. More comforting.

 

Greg pressed a banana-ery kiss to Mycroft's temple. "They'll be fine, Sherlock's a stubborn git, he won't let anything happen." He sat down on the closest bench chair, watching his vampire. "You don't need to worry, Sherlock's got enough heart for the pair of them, even if he doesn't know it.

 

Sherlock leant back, crossing his ankles, and watching his hum- the human. It was interesting, making sure he didn't start choking or anything. Sherlock winced as a spike of hunger sped through his chest. He quickly composed himself though, and settled back into a neutral expression. "Does it taste alright?" He asked, lacing his fingers together on his lap.

 

Mycroft sighed, but nodded his head. "I'll take your word for it... but I still wish to check up on them." Perhaps he could just get Greg to come through the door to do something for Sherlock. Surely his brother would be a bit more appeased with the human rather than himself.

 

John looked up from the bread, nodding his head. "It's good, yeah." He didn't want to be like this. In bed when he wasn't actually sick, eating banana on bread while Sherlock was practically acting like his damn caretaker or something. He didn't like to be babied. If anything, he just wanted to go back to work. Polish statues or something, he didn't know, nor did he care. Just something to feel relatively useful, and relatively normal. He didn't want Sherlock coddling him- he wanted him to be rude and snarky, just… just not doing this, where he looked at John with... god, it was probably pity. He swallowed down a chunk of banana hard, looking down at the sheets.

 

Greg tapped a foot on the bench wall, putting out a hand. "Well, you never know, this could just be a coverup for mischievousness." He shrugged lamely. "Just wait a mo' give them a couple of hours to sort things out."

 

Sherlock watched the look of self-loathing grow in John's expression, and he cleared his throat softly. "What do you want me to do John?" He asked softly, though his expression looked annoyed a tiny bit.

 

"I doubt it... Sherlock is a very good actor, I will admit, but he can't fake something like that." The anger, the sorrow in his eyes had been genuine. Mycroft knew it was.

 

John looked down at his lap for several moments. "I don't want to be treated like a piece of glass." He muttered, looking over to the vampire. "I know... I know it's bad for me right now, but I just want to feel normal. This wasn't- I didn't want to tell anyone because I thought this would happen- that they'd treat me like you're treating me right now."

 

Greg let out a little huff as he munched down. "Alright, but, just give them a few moments, assess John when he shows himself again, and if he doesn't seem alright then ask about it okay?" He spun slightly on the chair, not liking the worry in his eyes.

 

Sherlock blinked. "The last time I treated you normally you had a break down John," he stated, eyes sharp, but his words were said manner-of-factly, instead of cruelly. "But-" he said, taking a breath, "If you want me to treat you as I would, then I will." He gave a small smile, but it was slightly forced. He wanted to feel like he was doing something, but if he was just acting normally than he wouldn't feel that at all.

 

Mycroft nodded in his own agreement, sitting down on the bench and looking at the wood, though his mind was elsewhere. What was wrong with the human? Had Sherlock broken him already? Certainly, Mycroft wouldn't put it past him- god knows how he acted to humans after Victor had passed. Honestly, he'd treated them more like objects than people, though Mycroft couldn't say he had been any better. Not until Greg, at the very least.

 

John looked away, shutting his eyes. He knew well that trying to treat him normally would probably have a rather bad end result, but it was better than being coddled like this. He had been a soldier- the thought of coddling was honestly distasteful to him. Except when it was actually done, of course, and he needed it- then, it was very nice. Placing the plate at the side of the table, John moved his legs off the side of the bed, pushing himself up. His legs still felt weak, John tipping forwards slightly when he took a few steps, using the wall to stabilize himself. His ribs were hurting again. He leaned most of his weight against the wall, placing his temple against it. He wanted to take a walk, but the thought of possibly passing someone made him nervous. What would they see on him, all shaky hands and darting eyes and quickened heartbeat. Would they know what had happened? Logically, no, they wouldn't, but John couldn't help but feel as though rape gave it's own sort of brand, a marking in blood red ink that let everyone know what had happened, what had been done, and it unnerved him.

 

Greg stood and went to the sink, still watching his vampire and frowning. "Johns a strong kid," he said quietly, sticking the plate into the dishwasher and absently turning it on when his subconscious recognized it was full. He didn't particularly like the look in Mycroft's eye, a cross between worry and something else. Sadness? Guilt? The butler couldn't tell.

 

Sherlock was almost immediately at John's side, worried for him. He looked pale, and Sherlock assumed he had got head rush or something. "John?" He asked quietly, but remembering about what John said, he wrapped his arms around John's waist and moved him back to the bed. John wanted to be treated normally? Then Sherlock would boss him around. Sherlock moved the human and crawled so he was over top of the blond. "You want to be treated normally," he stated, and he ran a hand down John's face, not liking the pale complexion he saw, "but I can't do that. You've just shown that you're not okay. I can't sit by and not coddle you, at the moment; it's against my entire nature. At the moment, I have to- I _need_ to keep you safe. The information come to light is just-" he took a breath, rubbing his face with one hand. "You can't handle this by yourself. It's the truth and you know. And being treated normally means you'll be dealing with all your emotions singularly. You can't do that." He sat back so he wasn't over John anymore, and he let out a heavy breath. "You understand that right?" His back was to the human, and he was taught.

 

John looked up at Sherlock, not really afraid, simply looking up at him as he spoke. His chest clenched, then his stomach, then everything else until John was basically just one large cramped muscle himself. John let out a small breath when Sherlock suddenly sat back, lifting himself up a bit onto his elbows and looking down at his stomach rather than Sherlock. He was silent for a long time before actually looking up to the vampire, expression a bit solemn. "I just... I don't want you to be all over me. And not in the way of- like that, just… coddling me like that. I mean... it's fine when I want it, and it's- it's nice but-" John groaned, folding over himself and placing his head into his hands. "I don't know. I'm just tired and-" Well, there were plenty of other things as well. Laying back a bit, John stared up at the ceiling, hands over his stomach. "...I just want to be treated normally 'cause I don't want to remember that it happened. It's been two years- I should have gotten over it by now. But I haven't, and I don't know why. And- and I want to do things with you, I do, but I don't know if I can because- because of that, and it just makes me feel-" Inadequate. What use was a partner if they could not provide all sides of a relationship, including that of the sexual kind? Sherlock had even said he'd been quite the stud -had he really just used that word?- when he was human, and John didn't doubt he still continued activities like that with other vampires. But... but John didn't know if he could provide that. Could he? Maybe? If it was slow. If it was safe. If it was loving. Then yes. Maybe, he could.

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hell hath no fury like a woman scorned
> 
> sorry it's been so long guys, I do remember you i swear!! I'm doing my best to keep up to date and such, and we're near the end, hold hope! I'll try my best to keep on top 
> 
> ENJOYXX

Sherlock turned back to John, eyes sad. "Of course. I understand to some extent. I think-" he tilted his head, "I won't approach you in that manner, unless you want it and initiate it, and... If you feel like you're becoming uncomfortable then you tell me, and we'll stop. Actually," he crossed his legs, watching John and blinking slowly as he ignored the insistent heartbeat, "Of you ever feel uncomfortable, or frightened, then you need to speak up, and I can stop whatever I'm doing." He linked his fingers over one knee and started tapping with one finger as he spoke so he wasn't sitting completely still, "Otherwise I'll try and treat you as I would before hand." He tilted his head the other way now, red eyes calculating. "How does that sound?"

 

John mulled it over in his head a few times. "That... sounds good." And it did. When he needed coddling, he would have it, but when he didn't, there wouldn't be anyone doing it. Sighing, John did manage to get his legs a bit out from Sherlock before sitting at the edge of the bed again, scrubbing a hand over his face before looking to Sherlock. "....did you ever go and get a drink from Molly?" He questioned, raising a brow. It was an abrupt question, but one that came to mind to distract him.

 

Sherlock froze, having not expecting the question. "Yes, I did," he said after a moment. Why was he lying? It didn't matter that he hadn't. There had been no hesitation either. It was probably because Sherlock expected John to offer himself up, and the vampire did not want to feed from him. Not because of the information, more... He didn't want to hurt the human in any way. He frowned to himself. He had never done this before. He could go find Molly now, drink from her, but it was almost as if the thought was unappealing. Was it because John was so adverse to vampires in general, and Sherlock’s subconscious was trying to throw away the main thing that made him the creature he was? Sherlock let out a small growl to himself. He was being idiotic. He hadn't tried this fasting kind of thing before, this may have dire consequences. But still, despite his musing, he didn't speak up.

 

John narrowed his eyes a small bit, frowning and turning more towards the vampire. "Did you really?" He questioned, wondering whether the vampire was telling the truth. He looked a bit frustrated, and he had froze a small bit before actually talking. That at the very least made him quite a bit suspicious.

 

Sherlock flicked his eyes to the human. "Of course I did," he said, though upon deciding that he already sounded extremely defensive, back tracked. "Okay, no, I didn't," he said resignedly. "But I'm fine. I'm not even hungry." He gave what he thought would be a reassuring smile. He kept it there for a moment, before letting it drop off into a neutral expression. He was fine. The slight feeling- alright, the big feeling in his stomach was nothing, and he could deal with it much worse, he was sure.

 

Just as John thought. Frowning deeply, John let out a rather unamused sound before extending his hand toward the vampire, presenting his wrist. "Eat." He nodded down to his wrist, speaking before Sherlock could interrupt. "And before you say anything, it's fine. He never drank from me." Sure, the handlers teeth had scraped across his back and thighs, but that had been it. He'd never drank from him- called his blood filthy, though honestly it seemed that way only because he was the one who made it filthy.

 

Sherlock let out a small breath. There was no way he was going to be able to pull out of this without creating a huge hassle. So instead he gave in, turning so he could take the wrist more easily in his hand and he ran a thumb over it, pupils dilating slightly as he felt the pulse beneath his fingertips. "Apologies," he said before-hand this time, bending over and feeling his fangs extend before his lips even touched the skin. He pierced it softly, pupils dilating until his eyes were almost completely black, and he took long drags at the delicious liquid running over his tongue. It seemed to taste better, after fasting and not having it for a while, but as much as his animal side didn't want to, he ran his tongue over the wounds and cleaned up the rest of it, pulling back and wiping the corners of his mouth, then inspecting John's wrist for any specks of blood, which he cleaned of with his thumb softly. He cleared his throat, letting John take his own arm back as Sherlock blinked slightly lethargically. "Thank you," the vampire hummed, glancing up to the blond with freshly crimson eyes.

 

John was rather glad when Sherlock took the blood, watching him drink. It was slightly strange to him on how the vampire's pupils seemed to blow wide when he came closer to the skin, though he didn't focus all too much on that as Sherlock actually began to drink. John's shoulders slumped a small bit, a small numb, tingly feeling going through his body. He'd been honestly frightened the first time, uncomfortable and nervous, but now...it sort of....felt nice. Now that no one was tearing into his throat or shredding his skin with their teeth, it was nice. He slumped forwards slightly with the feeling of something that was close to ecstasy, and vaguely, he was reminded of Irene's glamour as his eyes became slightly hooded. He made a disgruntled, and slightly stupid sound when Sherlock spoke, blinking several times before nodding his head. "No problem..." He mumbled, putting his fingers to the two little punctures on his wrist.

 

Sherlock almost grinned at John's expression. Not for the first time was Sherlock seeing a person who actually enjoyed the process of being consumed from. He'd somewhat studied it, but by the way John's eyes had dilated and his cheeks had colored, he had enjoyed the experience thoroughly. So Sherlock almost smiled, but he didn't want to show off the blood still probably staining his teeth. Sherlock had concluded that the vampire's teeth excretes a sort of serum that makes the experience more pleasant, and in small quantities it numbs the skin and provides a feeling relating to pleasure. What Sherlock had also found out was that if the serum was produced and injected into the body in mass sizes and not taken out the process of turning began, so since Victor's passing had made sure that every wound was cleaned thoroughly before leaving his victim. "Enjoy that?" He hummed, eyes crinkling at the sides as he gave a closed lipped smile.

 

John prodded at the little marks for a moment longer before nodding his head. "Yeah- it was- that was nice." He said, nodding a bit more before he realized he probably should stop at this point. He leaned more in towards Sherlock, letting his head drop onto the others shoulder a bit. Yes, the pleasant feeling was wearing off, but John was enjoying it while he could at the moment. It was nice- made his brain a bit fuzzy, and also made it a bit hard to think, but it was still nice. Like being drunk, or something. He didn't know. God- when was the last time he'd actually gotten drunk? He couldn't even remember. John supposed he'd have to ask Greg where he could get a beer, or some whisky, or something. Getting drunk sounded rather nice at the moment- continue to forget about what's going on, the like. Yeah- definitely good.

 

Sherlock hummed again, snaking an arm around the human. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, leaning his head on John's. "You're not the first person to get like this did you know?" He said conversationally. “It's the serum in an adult vampires teeth that does that, the same serum that turns a person. It's like a numbing agent, and causes lethargy. Much like a vampire after feeding actually, as they metabolize the blood." If anyone looked close they would see soft color underneath the vampire’s almost translucent skin, and it would be like that for a few more minutes. He could get very close to blushing in this state, but he hadn’t in a long time. He kept rattling facts off, pleased to be with the human in a non-stressful situation.

 

John listened, humming in interest to some of the things, closing his eyes and enjoying the light moment. He liked these moments, really. Like when they went outside. Those were good moments. He nuzzled further into Sherlock's neck as the other went on, feeling some of the vampires curls beginning to fall onto his forehead a bit, but that was fine. After a minute or so he stopped listening in, the words muffled and a bit muted. He wasn't falling asleep, of course- he still wanted to go downstairs and ask Greg for that drink. He was just thinking about things. Not the things that he didn't want to be thinking about, of course, but just...things. Mainly Sherlock, really. He wondered why he felt so damn comfortable next to him, so relaxed. It wasn't even the serum- it was just... him. It could barely even be called love yet, and he was just… John didn't know. Just... yeah.

 

The vampire smiled, hearing the human’s heart rate slow as he relaxed. It was the first time it had done that since the library. It had even been slightly quicker as he ate. But now... It was just calm. "Are you falling asleep?" Sherlock asked quietly, taking a small breath in through his nose to try and imprint John's scent in his mind. "Because I can stop talking if you are, and I can leave you up here to rest." He used his other hand to draw small little circles on John's warm little knee, watching it as he waited for a reply. John was so small, strong yet fragile. Interesting and complex, not dull and boring like many others.

 

John shook his head, though honestly it seemed like more nuzzling. "'m not fallin' asleep." He grumbled, brows furrowing as he let out a huff of air onto the others pale neck. "Keep talkin'... I like it when you talk. It's all... rumbly or whatever." He gave a one shouldered shrug, shuffling himself closer to the other. He was fine now- well, fine enough. Sherlock was good, and safe. His mind and body had suddenly seemed to decide such after the coddling, actually. He had also decided he quite liked the others voice very much. It was soothing, low and baritone, though it could also be plenty arousing. But not at the moment -not at all. It was just....nice, especially when he was in such close contact to the others neck, the vibrations of the rumble in his tone rather pleasant.

 

Sherlock chuckled, pulling the human onto his lap more. He ran a hand down the human's cheek, smiling at him. "Well, I was turned by my brother fifty years ago, my favorite food when I was human was undetermined, my eyes were blue when I was human, uhm," he shrugged slightly. He didn't really know what to talk about now, as he was put on the spot and was actually asked to speak. "If I was a superhero I would have telepathy, but I already have an ability to see slightly into the future, to an extent." The vampire blinked slowly. Did John know that? He frowned. He didn't use foresight often, it was just a hassle.

 

John opened his eyes for that, smirking before his expression dropped down to confusion. "You can see into the future..?" He pushed himself away from Sherlock's neck a small bit, though remained in his lap. Pushing at the others shoulder lightly, John grinned, the dullness that had been in his eyes fading a small bit as he did so. "How do you do it? Can you do it right now? Please do it right now!" He insisted, the prospect of seeing into the future rather exciting. He already knew about the whole glamour gift, but he hadn't heard about vampires being able to see the future.

 

Sherlock caught his bottom lip. "Well, I don't know. I need to focus on something." He didn't like being out on the spot, it was rather... Pressuring. He looked to the human, and the look in his eyes was irresistible. "Alright, just wait a moment. And it's not too far into the future. It's rather unexciting." His gaze zoned out slightly as he thought. "Harriet is about to go see Clara, see how's she's doing. Mycroft is wandering around, Greg will join him soon. Alexander is going to yell at some point. He'll want me, but he won't come. Something's-" he frowned, his vision not stretching any further and the small images he had seen in his mind fading out as a figure had walked in. The vampire pulled his eyebrows together. "Does that appease you John?" He asked, expression going back to mildly amused now, though the younger vampire would have to inform Mycroft of what he had glimpsed. It was probably nothing, but it may be a threat.

 

John listened, and though he knew it was unexciting, it was still the future all the same. "Yes, it does." He nodded his head with a small smile, tilting himself back a bit so he could lean against the vampire. He wasn't exactly warm, but it was still nice.  John suddenly got off Sherlock’s lap, simply sitting on the side of the bed before getting up far more easily this time, only feeling a bit lightheaded. He turned back to Sherlock, offering a slight pleading expression, followed by a small smile. "Want to take a walk?" Just around the manor, of course- though he did want to downstairs, he hadn't a clue where the umbrella had gone, though it was probably broken after Sherlock had thrown it.

 

Sherlock nodded. "I would love to," he hummed, standing up and wrapping his arms around John's waist. "Are you going to fall over?" He rumbled, watching John's eyes. The human looked slightly pale is all and the vampire tilted his head. "Because I feel that you might with that expression you hold on your face." He grinned, but pulled away. The vampire walked to his wardrobe, opening it to walk into it. He peered around, and settled on a dark green umbrella, which he brought out to twirl at John. "Ready to go?" He asked, trailing his eyes over the human’s body, just checking for any unease.

 

John watched Sherlock, not minding the touch, knowing that it was good. It was safe. It was fine. The man watched as the vampire opened up the wardrobe, raising a brow before smiling. Oh- they were going outside? Fantastic. "Ready." John came over, hooking arms with Sherlock.

 

Sherlock smiled, walking and removing themselves from his bedroom, twirling the umbrella around his hand like an expert, he learnt it off his brother. "Do you feel alright?" The vampire asked casually as they walked the halls. It was a good way to make sure the human was alright with not being overbearing.

 

John watched Sherlock play with the umbrella with a solemn expression, although it was pretty amusing. "Hm?" He looked up to the vampire before giving a nod. "Yeah- of course. I'm alright." And currently, he was, which was a very good thing.

 

Sherlock smiled at that reply. "Good, that's very good." They walked down the staircase, and Harry opened the door for them, watching them with a curious expression. Sherlock thanked him, putting up the umbrella and putting it over their heads, but Sherlock playfully pushed John into the sunlight. "You need it," he teased, glancing around to check for any threat just in case there was any.

 

John looked back to Sherlock, blinking twice before smiling, taking in the fresh air. It was warmer now, the sky clearer. It was beautiful. The man walked forwards, feeling much better outside than in.

 

Sherlock watched as John's face lit up, smiling slightly. For a moment he wanted to feel the warmth the human was, and he carefully put a hand out of the diameter of the umbrella, wincing as the light touched his fingertips. He wished to be warm in that moment, without having to worry about the pain. He drew back into the shadows, watching his own source of light wander through the sculptures. The vampire followed him, reaching a hand up to run a finger over the top of them. "I knew you couldn't reach the tops," he grinned, holding up a finger with raised eyebrows.

 

John turned then, crossing his arms over his chest. "Okay, maybe I couldn't, but that doesn't mean I'm short!" Well, it technically did mean he was short, but he was deciding to screw logic at the moment just to prove his own point. "Not all of us can have...." He waved a hand at Sherlock’s legs a bit. "...giraffe legs or whatever." Giraffe legs. That was the best thing he could honestly come up with at the moment. He felt like smacking himself on the forehead, though decided not to take it back.

 

Sherlock raised his eyebrows but it melted into a huge grin. "You're absolutely adorable when you're mad." He hummed, wiggling his eyebrows and stepping forward to tuck John's chin. "Look at you, thinking your little words will hurt me." He stepped back so John was back in the sun. "I want to show you to Mycroft..." He shook his head slightly. "I'm only joking, but look at how you're blushing." His smile morphed into a smirk.

 

Again, he huffed, not thinking the word 'adorable' described him at all. "I'm not-" Well, he'd been meaning to say 'blushing', but then he felt the heat in his face. Feeling embarrassed -which only made him blush more- John turned and began walking through the statues once again. "Shut up...." He grumbled, moving on, though it felt good to be playful at the moment. More distractions.

 

Sherlock followed the human, crimson eyes sharp. It was normally at the point when you felt safest that you were in the most danger. "I will not," Sherlock retorted, keeping a reasonable distance behind the human, give him a chance to breathe and be normal. "You're so _adorable_ and cute John," he said loudly. "Awwww, look at you," he cooed, though the smirk ruined the perfect tone and words.

 

It was more annoyance that actual anger that went through him, John turning around and frowning. "I'm not cute, or adorable." He shook his head, crossing his arms once again before raising his chin. "I was a soldier, you know." John said matter-of-factly, because soldiers certainly were not cute.

 

"Soldiers can be cute," Sherlock replied immediately. "You're evidence of that." He grinned again, watching the flush of annoyance with glee. "Stop trying to look defiant, you know I'm right." The vampire stood up to his full height, looking down his nose to the human. He had a rather fair bit of size on the human, and it made him feel more powerful.

 

John didn't make any retort, simply turning once again and walking on, trying to forget about Sherlock for the moment and simply enjoy the sunshine and fresh air. Yes- that was much better than paying attention to the vampire at the moment.

 

Sherlock followed on silent feet, letting the nothingness envelop the pair. He felt a feeling whirl in his chest as he watched John, but he didn't say anything, he just let it stay there, it warmed him completely. It felt like it was spreading throughout him, and he smile softly. John was his sun, he truly was.

 

John walked until he got to the garden, looking down at the flowers. The birds seemed to recognize him then, because one second John was standing there and the next he was an apparent stand post for the winged creatures to sit upon. Chuckling, John spread out his arms a bit so they wouldn't be so crowded on his shoulders, and they took the space rather gladly.

 

Sherlock rounded the corner and barked a laugh at the sight. "Actual princess John Watson," he laughed, as he came forward, and none of the birds left John's body. They turned to keep an eye on the predator, but felt safe enough near John that they didn't fly away. "Now you need to sing a song and spin around in a circle, go," he grinned, stopping just short of the human.

 

John rolled his eyes, huffing a bit. "I don't sing." He said with a shake of his head, giving a small, "Sorry", towards the bird in his hair as it gave a rather displeased squawk. "And I'm not a princess. Or a prince. Sorry, but that's you." John pointed a finger at the other, though tried not to disturb the birds this time with his movement.

 

Sherlock balanced the umbrella on his shoulder, tilting his head at the human. "And don't forget it," he rumbled, watching the birds with his own hawk-like gaze. "They'll probably defecate on you, did you know?" He offered, grinning wickedly.

 

John blinked, looked around at the birds, and quickly began to move his arms. He didn't want birds pooping on him- god, no. He let out a rather disgusted sound at the sight of a white splotch on his shirt sleeve. "Oh my god- are you serious?" He hissed, looking at the stain before shooting a glare at the vampire. "You-" He growled out. "Say nothing."

 

Sherlock watched the birds fly away, raising an eyebrow and stifling laughter as he looked at John. He covered his mouth, shaking his head. He wouldn't say anything, he was laughing silently far too hard to make any words form. John's face was absolutely _priceless_ and his tone was even better. The vampire felt like he hadn't laughed so hard for a long time. The silenced giggles stayed like that for a long moment, before he straightened and let out a laughing breath. He raised his eyebrows. "Say nothing about what?" He said, lips twitching as he tried to stop himself laughing again.

 

"Good." John gave Sherlock a final glare before turning, looking at the stain on his shoulder with further disgust before moving on. Stupid birds- didn't they know when to control themselves. He was never going to let the damn things on his shoulder ever again. Okay, he might, but only because it was sort of really cool to have them on there.

 

Sherlock walked up to the human, peering at his shoulder. "Uh, did you- you have a little..." He motioned to his own shoulder with a slightly disgusted grimace. "Don't worry." He shook his head, grinning like an idiot. John was very adorable when he wanted to be.

 

John shot him a look that clearly told him not to talk about it, and was quite happy when he waved it off. He'd had to find a different shirt to change into; of there even were shirts he _could_ change into. He hadn't a clue as to where Greg had gotten his, honestly.

 

Sherlock let out a little noise of discontent, letting John know he was about to speak. "I think we'll go back inside and get you changed hmm? I will not have my personal... Worker dressed up in such..." He grinned slightly to himself, "Horrid colors. It's seriously an atrocity." The vampire started moving back in the direction of the manor, expecting John to follow.

 

John rolled his eyes, but was rather happy he wouldn't have to go around with bird poop on his shoulder for the rest of the night.

 

Sherlock looked at John from the corner of his eye, hesitating only slightly before saying as they actually entered the foyer, "A bird has shat on you by the way." He set the umbrella down and rushed up the staircase, in case John felt like he should start a chase.

 

John was going to say something about Sherlock being obvious, but then he was running up the stairs. John, who needed to distraction, the lightness, ran after. As best as he could, of course- he still had a fractured rib after all. But he managed, skidding down the corner and after the vampire.

 

Sherlock started laughing as he rounded the corner, there was no way John was going to catch him. One: Sherlock was a vampire, and two: John was injured, so as they actually got around a corner he saw a table and leaped onto his, John's reaction time too slow and passing him, and by the time the blond had actually stopped Sherlock was sitting casually crossed legged on the table, watching the human with a sparkling gaze. "Run run run," he said, grinning, "as fast you can," he stepped off the table, miming stretching, "you can't catch me..." He emphasized a yawn, "I'm a vampire duh." He laughed, slowly walking forward. He pulled John into a careful hug. He laughed in the human’s ear, he hadn't smiled so much in a long time, it had just been so lovely not worrying about anything at all for once, and just playing around was perfect.

 

John had been heaving in air by the time he got to Sherlock, panting when he came to a stop. He felt a bit irked by the fact that the vampire was mocking him, though that feeling ceased when he was hugged. Sighing, John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, breathing into the others shoulder, relaxing himself. "I know, but I'm stubborn." He grumbled, closing his eyes.

 

Sherlock pulled back, eyes wide with disbelief. "No," he said, shaking his head as he tried not to laugh, " _you're_ stubborn?" He took in a slow breath, still shaking his head. "Since when?" It was rather cute, Sherlock had decided, that John was breathing so heavily. The vampire reveled in the aliveness of it all.

 

John could tell that Sherlock was faking the surprise, grumbling something and pushing at his shoulder just a bit. "Since forever." He smirked a bit before putting his head back onto the others shoulder again, closing his eyes and sighing as he relaxed again, mainly catching his breath.

 

Sherlock chuckled lowly, letting the human hold him instead of the opposite way. He waited for a moment, before breaking the calm mood by saying, "You need to regain your fitness," he stated, smiling to the air behind the blond. "The amount of time it took you to regain your breath was appalling." He grinned softly.

 

Letting out a huff of laughter, John nodded his head a bit against Sherlock’s shoulder. "I don't exactly have super speed, you know. I'm only human." He didn't exactly realize what the context of those possible words could mean, simply a bit tired. Geez- he was a bit out of shape, wasn't he? Well, not out of shape, but more so he needed to actually exercise and not lose more weight than he already had.

 

Sherlock shrugged slightly. "Exactly, you're human, and you need to stay in shape." He moved a hand down and poked John's belly softly. "Unlike the brilliance that is myself, you can eat too much or eat too little." He thought for a moment, bringing his hand back up. "Maybe I could be your personal trainer." He raised his eyebrows and scoffed at himself.

 

"You?" John's brows instantly shot up. "I don't think I'd want you to be my personal trainer. You'd probably have me trying to jump up on the rafters to strengthen my legs." He shook his head with a small chuckle. He'd get his weight back up somehow- he still had plenty of muscle, though there was barely any fat. It was just....well, being kept in a cramped pen didn't leave too much space to move all the time, and most of his limbs had been kept in towards his body because there wasn't any room to stretch them.

 

Sherlock nodded. "Probably actually," he said grinning. He ran a hand down John's cheek, thinking how much healthier he would look if he put slightly more weight on. He didn't like to think about John got into this condition, but he could do to correct the terrible things that had happened to the human. "Maybe I should just cook for you all the time. Like Hansel and Gretel, but with gourmet food." He grinned, settling the hand on John's shoulder.

 

John leaned his head into the touch slightly, his brow simply raising further with the next sentence. "So you're basically going to just feed me up and then eat me?" The edge of his lip quirked upwards. "I think that's a bit worse than you being my personal trainer..."

 

Sherlock grinned. "I think it's better to be honest. Remember? You enjoyed the process. It won't be unpleasant for you in any way." He leant forward, bending down and pressing a soft kiss to John's throat.

 

John hummed, closing his eyes for the small, cold kiss. "I guess, yeah....as long as you don't put me in an oven or anything, I guess it's good." He grinned a bit here before sighing gently for no particular reason, merely enjoying the calmness of the moment while it lasted.

 

Sherlock pressed another kiss, closer to the hollow where John's shoulder and neck joined. "What if I just put part of you in the oven, make like a quiche or something." He let his tongue touch the skin, and pulled back when he felt his fangs descend. "You'd make a nice quiche."

 

John closed his eyes when he felt Sherlock’s tongue against his skin for just a moment. "I'd rather much keep all my parts, thanks," He mumbled.

 

Sherlock chuckled, keeping his face by John's jaw. "Are you sure?" He rumbled as lowly as he could, and he snaked his arms around under John's so they were around his waist. The vampire was very mindful, trying his best not to cross any lines.

 

John smiled, ignoring the small knot in his stomach. No- his body and mind had agreed with him. Sherlock was good, he was gentle and safe and good. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure." He nodded his head just a small bit, though not too much as to jostle the others head.

 

Sherlock pulled back and shook his head slowly, looking John in the eyes and watching them. There was a glint there, and it was slightly scared. It was the smallest thing, but Sherlock saw the tension in John's shoulders. He pulled back entirely, leaving his arms around John. "It's a shame really, you'd taste delicious." He grinned softly.

 

John tried not to notice the distance, both feeling a sense of loss and relief. Sherlock wasn't near him anymore, couldn't kiss his neck or his lips from this distance, but a small sense of safety came over him as well. But he was fine- it had been two years. He'd had his nightmares. He'd had his cries. And he was fine. Sort of. "It's a shame for you, yeah. You're never going to get a taste." He smirked a bit.

 

Sherlock swooped in and pressed and quick kiss to John's lips, pulling back and trailing his tongue along his bottom lip. "Now who said I couldn't?" He asked. He shook his head slowly. "Wait, hang on, that wasn't enough to actually..." He did the same action again, lingering longer, and he pulled back with a grin. "Still not enough, but I guess I'll just have to try later too." He squeezed his arms slightly, smiling.

 

John was a small bit surprised by the first kiss, though the second he was nearly melting into it, humming quietly before Sherlock pulled back. God, his lips were heavenly- plump and soft, the coldness of them not taking away anything from the satisfaction John got from kissing him. John reached up on his toes a bit to press a kiss onto the vampires own lips before leaning back, nodding his head. "Yeah- later. And when we're not in the hallway." He glanced around a bit, mostly just to gesture to the location rather than to see if anyone was there.

 

Sherlock smiled. "Why not?" He asked quietly, tilting his head. "I know of some who like the thought of maybe being caught." He wiggled his eyebrows. Alexander. The vampire sniffed slightly. "It adds to the atmosphere..." He grinned wickedly, which melted into a smirk.

 

"I don't think it'd be a very good atmosphere if possibly Molly were to see..." John said rather honestly, though the thought was vaguely exciting if it weren't Molly. After all, no one besides Mycroft and Greg knew about their little thing so far, and John was pretty sure that Sherlock wouldn't keep it much of a secret.

 

"If possibly what will I see?" Came a bright and sprightly voice, and Molly rounded the corner, freezing as she saw them. Her eyes narrowed. John had lied, then. "Oh, of course. _That_." She curled her lip, and crossed her arms over her chest.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow okay this chapter is a little fucked
> 
> like, alcohol, dubcon, molly is pissed, crying shit man everything is a mess
> 
> ENJOYXX?

Sherlock let out a little noise of surprise; he should have seen her coming. "Molly," he said carefully, not removing his arms from the human. "Good day it is," he said, peering at her over John's shoulder.

 

Molly scoffed. It was the barbs she raised, feeling her chest constrict uncomfortable as she watched them. "For you of course." Her accusing gaze was fixed on the blond though. He had been the one to lie.

 

John froze when he heard Molly's voice, sucking in a breath and letting it out carefully once Sherlock spoke. An anxiousness began to creep along his spine, feeling guilt. He'd known Molly had been pining for Sherlock, god he had, and yet here he was. But it wasn't like he could have ultimately helped it. He turned his head slightly, looking back to the other. What could he say? It's not what it looks like? It was exactly what it looked like. "Uh... Molly..." He began carefully, though his voice died off from there, the man keeping his mouth open for a moment before carefully shutting it, seeming to shrink slightly beneath her rather icy gaze -or perhaps it was a glare, he didn't know.

 

Sherlock had seen the look that was in Molly's eyes right at that moment in spiteful lovers. He quickly moved John to be behind him, he would be of no help at present time, he would only make it worse. The vampire felt no guilt, he had never returned the feelings, but he did feel slightly sorry for the poor girl. Behind the fury was a great deal of betrayal. "Molly, this has nothing to do with John. I initiated it. You leave him be." The brunet’s tone was absolutely serious, his eyes finding the brown ones across the hall. "That's a direct command."

 

Molly curled her lip, breath short and quick. She felt her eyes well, and she wiped them furiously. Her eyes flicked to John, he seemed to hold enough guilt and pain for her to sniff and stop her bottom lip trembling. "Of course... Sir." She let out a shaky breath, blinking and waiting for one of them to say something. Well, no. She was waiting for John to try and explain himself. Why, when, how. Anything. Her gaze was flat now, devoid of emotion.

 

John honestly didn't think it was the best idea to be commanding Molly to do anything right now, but didn't voice it, simply watching Molly as she- oh god, she was going to cry, wasn't she? Swallowing thickly at seeing the expectancy in her gaze, John stepped forwards a tiny bit, just trying to get a little beyond Sherlock. "I... I'm so sorry, Molly. I just- I knew you had feelings for him, and believe me, I didn't think I would ever even like him, but... but now I do and... and there's really nothing that I can change about that." He explained as calmly as he could. It wasn't like he'd just sort of chosen to be with Sherlock- it had been weird, and happened so quickly, but- but it had happened, and there really was no real going back from it.

 

Molly nodded tightly, managing a dry smile at that. She'd expected something along those lines, there was nothing she could do to change it now. "Well..." She said carefully, sparing a glance for Sherlock. "I guess that's a start." She clenched her fists at her sides, the duster in hand. "I better get back to work," the maid said carefully, politically. Without another word, she turned. She would get the last words in that situation. She wouldn't allow Sherlock or John to. Not after what they had done. Though... She couldn't stay angry for too long. After all, the position she'd caught them in had been rather adorable. She swore softly, sniffing and starting the dusting up again.

 

Sherlock let out a tight breath. "That went... Rather well, I think." The vampire said, turning to John with a small smile. He'd expected something to fall, voices to be raised, but there was none. "Do you agree?" He asked the human, not touching him now just in case someone else important in Sherlock's life walked around the corner.

 

John sighed, staring after Molly. "Yeah... I guess..." He could tell the conversation wasn't over. Not at all. Molly would probably come back, forget whatever 'command' Sherlock had given her, do something that would probably be a bit not good. Looking around, John took Sherlock’s hand, tugging at it gently. "Come on- let's go somewhere else, yeah?"

 

Sherlock let out a long sigh. John was worried Molly would do something, of course he was. "It's fine John-" he started, staying in one spot, but the look in his eyes was so pleading, and Sherlock huffed. "Of course John. Where do you want to go?" He started letting himself be led, not really phased. It was Molly who had walked in on them, and it wasn't his fault. He hadn't led her on or anything. It was a pointless infatuation; he couldn't do anything about it. So why would he worry?

 

John was rather happy when Sherlock decided to actually let John take him somewhere, trying not to be bothered with Molly. It was probably a bit paranoid to think that she would do something. Yeah, he was just paranoid was all. "Let's go to the music room- I want to hear you play something." He began to move down the hall, remembering rather well where it actually was. Another distraction was needed, and John didn't exactly feel like saying he wanted to go down into the kitchen and drown himself in beer. That was for later, when he could just be with Greg.

 

Sherlock nodded, letting John lead him slightly. "That's not too hard," he hummed, not liking that the human seemed slightly tense. "There's a bit I can play," he smirked slightly. They got to the music room rather quickly, to Sherlock’s surprise, as he didn't think John would actually know his way. "You're actually learning," he stated with an almost-snort, now taking the lead to get to the piano.

 

"I've got pretty good memory." John tapped his temple a bit. He'd been making some kind of effort to actually figure out where was where in the manor, considering he was probably going to be living here for the rest of his life. He had the hope that he wouldn't, of course- here, he was still a slave. Sure, the vampires were nice, he did like Sherlock very very much, but... he wasn't free. He couldn't just _leave_. Of course if he did leave he would take Sherlock with him, if the vampire would go. But those were thoughts for another time.

 

Sherlock tapped his own temple, smiling slightly. "Not as good as mine," he retorted, getting comfortable in his seat straight away, and pressed the keys to double ensure he was in the right place. He thought for a split second for a piece to play, and began Für Elise, but he slowed it down considerably, so it almost sounded haunting. "I don't believe you could remember all the songs I know," he gloated only slightly, pressing the keys easily and watching John without looking at the actual piano. He was at home here, with this instrument, and he might play his violin soon too.

 

John took a seat on a rather comfortable chair, listening to the tune. It was a bit chilling, but relaxing all the same, John settling and letting his body loosen some –he hadn't even realized he'd been a bit tense. "Alright, well- I have a good memory for an average human person." He said with a roll of his eyes, crossing his legs a bit as he looked to the other with a smile.

 

Sherlock smiled softly towards the piano, concentrating slightly more as the piece became more complicated. He could probably play this with his eyes closed, but he needed to look like he was trying slightly, if not just for the human's sake. It returned to the ritornello, and he flicked his gaze to John. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it, deciding against it.

 

Johns brows furrowed slightly at the action that he quickly retreated from, getting up off of the seat and coming behind the other, not so hesitant this time to wrap his arms around the vampires shoulders and neck, placing his head on Sherlock’s shoulder. "It's lovely music." He murmured after a moment, watching the long, pale fingers move across the keys with a certain fluidity he was sure that not many could attain.

 

Sherlock snorted softly. "It ought to be," he hummed, enjoying the warmth that was John's touch. "I've practiced my skills for fifty years, I should be able to impress a-" he paused. John wasn't his lover, and probably wouldn't be for a little while, nor would he consider John just a friend. He wasn't a slave. Sherlock would never consider him so, but what was he supposed to think of the human as? "-a close companion?" He offered, fingers not stopping their journey. "What do I think of you as John Watson?" He asked, turning his head slightly to touch John's cheek with his own.

 

John hummed for a moment, thinking about it before shrugging. "Boyfriend? Partner?" He didn't know. Could he consider Sherlock a boyfriend? That didn't sound right though... partner would suffice for now, he supposed, until they came up with a better word.

 

Sherlock smiled. "Boyfriend," he smirked, liking the sound. "It sounds very informal doesn't it." He played the final note, letting it hang in the air for a moment. "Partner," he rumbled, turning his head further and pressing a kiss to John's temple. "Now what?" He asked again, letting John decide so he felt more comfortable.

 

John grinned at the kiss, giving a small one back on Sherlock’s jaw. "I... sort of wanted to see Greg. Wanted to talk a bit." He shrugged. It was getting sort of late, and seemed like a good time to talk to someone besides Sherlock. Someone that was human, to be exact. Maybe they could share some experiences, some stories. He did want to know what happened to Greg after he'd asked John to take care of his wife.

 

Sherlock nodded slightly, it was completely understandable. John was in a world and he was spending a lot of his time with a dead man, Greg was breath of fresh-alive air in that sense. "I'm almost completely sure they are both in the kitchen, or... That is where we left them." He smiled, curling his arm to give John a short awkward-angled hug. "Do you remember how to get there?" He asked with a cheeky smile.

 

"Yes,” the blond rolled his eyes, grinning and kissing Sherlock’s temple before moving away. "I'll probably be with him for an hour or two. Hopefully you'll manage without me for that long." He teased lightly before moving out of the music room and down the hall, getting lost just a few times before managing to finding the kitchen, happy to see that Mycroft and Greg were still lounging around.

 

Sherlock watched John leave, and sat silently for a moment before deciding that there was absolutely nothing to do without John around. So he opened up his piano seat and brought out a folder, labeled in tidy script, Focus Pieces. When Sherlock got so bored and remembered to look, he got out his pieces that had to have his full concentration to do well. He pulled out the first pages of score, and settled in for some more piano playing.

 

Greg was leaning against the bench, just chatting with Mycroft about vampire politics. It was rather nice, just talking about everything and nothing at the same time. He saw something move in the corner of his eye and looked up, stopping mid-sentence to give the blond a greeting. "Watson! Glad to see Sherlock hasn't killed ya," he said, smiling. The butler offered a quick, 'don't even think about it', glance to Mycroft, and looked back to John. "What can I do you for?"

 

Mycroft raised a brow at the man, still leaning against the counter as John shuffled around a bit. He did have the nagging feeling to question about something, at the very least- he still wanted to know what was wrong with the human, what had made Sherlock so upset and uptight when he came around. It wasn't unusual for him to be snappy with Mycroft, but he could sense something was extremely off about the whole thing. "Um... I was... wondering if you and I could just talk," John's eyes flickered to Mycroft, the man suddenly feeling a bit uncomfortable without the protection and comfort that Sherlock brought. "...alone." He didn't want Mycroft to be here when he got drunk and probably started to blab his head off about what had happened in the trafficking.

 

Greg looked to Mycroft, eyes cautious. "Of course, that'd be fine," the butler said carefully, keeping his gaze fixed on the vampire. It probably wasn't often Mycroft got dismissed, and he hoped that the vampire didn't take any offence. Greg stood, walking over to John and slapping him on the upper arm. "Let's get you something to drink aye? Make the words flow easier," he nodded subtly to the door for his vampire, patting a seat for John and going to the whiskey cabinet.

 

John was honestly relieved when Greg was the one to offer the drink instead of John having to ask for it, not looking back to Mycroft to see the vampire’s wrinkled nose and deep frown. Greg was quite right- he wasn't dismissed. At all. He was the master of the manor, and very high in the government; he dismissed people. He didn't get dismissed. But still, seeing Greg's look, Mycroft made his exit, feeling the whole thing to be rather wrong. John got settled, sighing as he leaned over the table a bit, tracing the marking in the wood with his fingernail as he waited for a glass to be poured.

 

Greg only got one glass out, getting some of the good stuff out for his friend, not watching Mycroft leave. The vampire would have a good rant about it later; he didn't want to deal with any of it now. When the whiskey was done, he put three ice cubes in, walking over to John and placing it in front of him. No mind to the wood, if it got ruined by the water the vampires would pay for a new one and use this one as firewood. Greg say down, concern gracing his features. "What can I do for you mate?" He asked, watching the blond carefully.

 

John took the glass in hand immediately, gulping quite a bit of it down. He needed the numbness right now- it was rather good feeling. "I just needed to talk to someone who knows about the... trafficking stuff." He waved a hand a bit, putting his hand beneath the table as it began to shake a little. "I... uh, told Sherlock something about what happened in there, and... well, first he sort of figured it out himself, but... yeah." John waved a hand. "Anything bad happen to you in there? Well, worse than the usual?" He questioned. Maybe Greg had gone through the same thing- perhaps it would be good to find out his methods of coping.

 

Greg frowned at how much John consumed on the first mouthful. He listened carefully, and it clicked in his head almost immediately. The reason why Sherlock had been so upset. It made Greg's stomach curl. Though he didn't let that show on his expression as he spoke. He didn't want John to know he'd figured out. "Worse than all the whippings and beatings I got? In addition to the burns?" He shrugged nonchalantly. "Nothing worse than that I'm afraid."

 

Ah. So John was alone in this. "That's- that's good, I suppose," He drank some more, putting the glass to his mouth before realizing it was empty. Huh. Getting up, John didn't even ask Greg for more before he grabbed the whiskey out of the cabinet he'd seen the other go in, pouring more into his glass. Perhaps a bit more than he should have, but John needed something right now. Sitting back down, John was rather happy to find that after another gulp of the coppery liquid he was beginning to feel a numbness prickling at his skin. "I got... something a little worse." A lot worse, actually.

 

Greg watched John, and let out a breath, watching John drink. The butler had been sober for two years. He wasn't about to fall into that again, but he wasn't going to stop John. "Just take the whole bottle when you've finished that glass aye?" He offered, the edges of his mouth turned down. He would stop the smaller man when he'd finished half a bottle, he was small after all, and probably hadn't had alcohol in a while. Greg knew exactly what John was feeling. Maybe on a slightly smaller scale, but he knew. "Wanna wait ‘til you're drunk to share?" He asked, knowing that sobriety often hindered words.

 

John thought about it for a moment, but nodded. He probably wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut either way. So he drank in silence, feeling the buzz reach all over as he drank from the bottle, wanting to get drunk fast. It was working rather well- there'd only been a few times in the past years that he'd had alcohol, and his body honestly hadn't a clue as to what to do with it anymore apparently. John was already halfway through the bottle when he felt a complete and utter fuzziness in his brain, blocking out proper thoughts as he leaned over the table a bit, grabbing the bottle and taking another sip. "Alright... Alrighty..." His words were slurred, one eyelid drooping more than the other before he snapped them both open. "I think I'm-“ He hiccupped a bit. "I think I'm drunk now." He looked to the bottle, reaching for it again. "Maybe just a 'lil more....."

 

Greg watched the blond in silence, heart aching slightly. He'd seen some of the people who'd been chosen by the vampires as little toys. They'd lost all light in their eyes. When John reached for the bottle at half way Greg snatched it away, keeping it on his side of the table. "I think you're going to have a wicked enough hangover tomorrow morning with what you've had," he said, standing. "Sit tight for a mo; I'll get you a glass of water so it's not so bad." He walked over, spinning the lid onto the bottle and getting a pint glass, filling it up and setting it in front of the blond. "Drink up, then we can talk." He gave a pleased smile.

 

John grumbled something about Greg being stupid, but drank the water anyways, setting the glass down before opening his mouth to speak, closing it, then opening it again. "You know... I wanna have sex with Sh'lock. I do, I really, really do." Probably not the best way to actually start this whole thing, but whatever. John, at the moment, didn't really care what he said. "I mean... who wouldn't? Look at 'im. He's..." John waved a hand, making a slightly incoherent noise before letting his hand drop back onto the table. "But... I can't. And it's stupid, you know? Because- because I want to, but when it gets down to it everything's all-" Another wild hand gesture and a more grumbled noise that was still unintelligible. "When I try to, and I hate it. I mean... it happened two years ago, and the bastard only did it like....once. Or twice. I beat the shit out of 'im when he tried the third time. Got a nasty scar. Wanna see?" John stood up on slightly wobbling feet, trying to lift his shirt up some until he plopped back down. "I'll show you 'nother time." He nodded his head, playing with the glass of water a bit. It was nice to be drunk. "But like... I don't want to be all scared or whatever about all of it. Sex 'n stuff. 'Cause I'm not scared, but I'm just sorta... scared, you know?"

 

Greg grit his teeth, mouth wanting to twitch as the blond spoke but he forced himself not to. John may be on his face at any moment, and Greg was ready to leap forward and catch him. When John stood, he did too, brown eyes watching with the most concern he had felt for a long time. The butler almost felt nauseous, seeing John speak so carelessly about his emotions, but that's what the alcohol was for. And Greg had been expecting this anyway. "Yeah I know," Greg said, thinking back to earlier in the day. “Also the vampire thing is pretty terrifying, and I haven't even been through what you have." He got up, grabbing the glass and filling it before placing it in front of John again, so the blond could sip at it absently while he spoke.

 

John sipped at the glass a bit, setting it down and squinting at Greg. "Have you had sex with M...Mycr..Mycroft yet?" It took him a moment to actually say the name. "Ew- ugh... don't tell me. Never mind." He shook his head, taking a few more sips of the water. "But... yeah." John looked down, suddenly feeling like not talking. He wanted someone though. Wait- he knew who he wanted right now! John got up, using the table for support, pausing and grabbing the glass as he made his way out of the kitchen. "Greg, Greggy- I'm-" He hiccupped. "I'm gonna go find Sh'lock. He's- he's playing around with music 'n... stuff. Thanks for the booze, don't tell me if you had sex, that's... that's weird." He finished off a bit awkwardly before making is exit, giggling down the hall. Yeah- seeing Sherlock would be fun. He was a funny guy.

 

Greg got up to follow John, about to catch the man’s arms when he slipped out he door. Greg cursed lightly, cheeks still pink from John's drunken words. He was secretly happy that John had told him to not tell him, he may have not told the other in any case. He closed his eyes as he heard John retreating and rubbed his temples. John was messed up. Greg sat down heavily, glancing at the whiskey cabinet, but instead he just lay his head on the table. The quiet would be nice. He probably should have gone after the blond, but there was nothing to hurt him. Hopefully…

 

Sherlock was halfway through Balakirev's Islamey when the smell of alcohol touched his nose. He froze, looking away from the score and tilting his head. The footsteps were stumbling, and the human scent was masked with the heavy scent of whiskey, but it was definitely John. Sherlock stood, eyes narrowed. He'd gone to Greg to get drunk. What an idiot. Sherlock walked out to the hall, turning left and raising an eyebrow at the state John was in. "Don't vomit on the carpet please," he said pleasantly, letting John stumble towards him.

 

John honestly didn't care what Greg thought. Currently, he didn't give two shits about what anyone thought. He just felt hollow and dizzy and he couldn't think and Jesus Christ why was the room spinning. He grinned at the sight of Sherlock, coming towards the vampire and tripping over himself a little, his nose bumping into the others chest. Woah- when had he gotten so close? How fast had John been moving? "Sh'lock," He pushed himself away a little, and with his own drunken messed-up-ness and the feeling of emptiness and a certain urge to just do something -especially with the recent conversation- John grabbed onto Sherlock's collar, trying to pull him down. "Can you fuck me?" Definitely not eloquent at all, but again- he currently didn't give two shits, or any kind of shits at the moment. This was probably the only time he'd actually be able to do it anyways, and that thought alone was all he needed at the moment to actually motivate him to want to do it. He'd probably regret it, but whatever.

 

Sherlock gripped John's side and pulled him up so he wasn't stooping like a cripple. It was highly unpleasant; the smell of whiskey, and it was stinking out the whole hallway. Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise at John's words, he didn't give to the pressure trying to pull him down, and before answering he brought John back into the music room, shutting the door and supporting most of John's weight without much thought. Sherlock straightened John's shirt, not answering as he flattened the other's hair and watched him. Had the words been whispered with pink cheeks and lust filled eyes, then Sherlock would be more than happy to concede, but right at this moment, all he could feel for John was pity. A sad, broken man who needed to drown in alcohol to even speak. And he had been so strong at the auction, Sherlock remembered. Time could break down any wall it seemed. "No John," he said eventually, keeping his back rod-straight. "I will not."

 

John was more than disappointed with the answer, but still tried anyways, grabbing Sherlock's arm. "Please just fuck me, okay? I just- I need it." And he did, god he did. He didn't care if Sherlock thought he was sad, or something pitiful. He'd been strong enough for so long and he just needed one fucking break. He'd led people to their deaths multiple times and it all just hurt so much and he just wanted it to stop. He wasn't some big hero who could suck down all his feelings and just keep treading on. He'd done that for so long and he was just tired and needy. No- he was just human. And yeah, he could be strong, but he broke sometimes. And it was fucking hard. He didn't care if Greg or Mycroft or Sherlock saw him with disgust, or pity, or whatever else. Did they have the deaths of two hundred people on their shoulders? Fucking no. Did they go through hell day by day for several years? Fucking no. Did they have nightmares, or flashbacks, or carry things that would send most people to a psych-ward? Fucking. No. He was just a man. There was only so much he could weigh down on himself before snapping. What did they even expect? He was only human. And he needed a break for once.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
> oh no
> 
> flashbacks peeps, like intense flashbacks, keep in mind about the warnings
> 
> ENJOYXX

Sherlock watched John carefully. The vampire wouldn't do that to the human, he felt like he would never be able to forgive himself if he did, that John would regain his senses and never forgive him. "I _won't_ John," he said slowly, taking the arm that wasn't in a vice grip and pulling John to him, their hips aligned. He leaned down slightly, pressing a kiss to John's forehead. It was all a drunken haze, John felt like he needed this, but it was a bad idea, he'd shown that today. It was not until Sherlock felt comfortable with taking John like that would they, and that definitely wouldn't be while John could barely stand without aid. "I'm sorry." He cupped John's cheek then, tilting the other's head up slowly, trying to calm the whole atmosphere. It was too tense, too hard to breathe unnecessary air. John's hazy blue eyes were pools of fog almost, and Sherlock blinked his crimson ones, almost completely sure of what John was about to do next.

 

Why- why couldn't he just get what he wanted for once? It didn't even matter that he was drunk- John just needed it, and wanted it, and yet he wasn't even able to get it. He didn't know what he wanted to do anymore, because it all seemed wrong and he felt sick and everything was spinning and just- John looked up to Sherlock, trying to make sense of everything that was going on, though saw an opportunity there, leaning his head up more and making the quick connection of their lips before Sherlock could try to pull back. He could at least have this- at least it was something. He pressed his mouth hard against the other, trying his best to not be sloppy about it before he pulled himself back, taking a few breaths before he slumped against Sherlock's chest. "Why won't you just do it? Why? I just... I just want you to, and I want it, and- and I just-" He banged his forehead against the others chest, gritting his teeth. "I..I'm just so fucking tired, you know? And I just want to forget about being sad and forget about being here and I just to have you and you just-" He slammed against him again before going limp, feeling honestly drained.

 

Sherlock pressed against John, and then he was feeling guilty and it was almost overwhelming. He didn't want John to beg for this. He didn't- he couldn't. "I know, I'm trying to know," he amended quickly. "But I don't want our first time to be one where you wake up with a hangover. I want you to wake up feeling bliss and happiness, not regret or fear or pain." He wrapped his arms around John's shoulders, taking a slow breath and swallowing. "I'm sorry," he said again, knowing that wouldn't be enough. He ran a hand down through John's hair, now feeling terrible. John had given up, it seemed, in that moment he was just sick of holding up a front. But Sherlock wouldn't break to it. He couldn't. He wouldn't forgive himself. "Look, let's go up to my bedroom, we can try and talk about it." 'I can try and talk. You might start crying', he added mentally, pulling back slightly and peering at his partner.

 

John honestly didn't hear a word Sherlock said, only managing to understand the apologies and something that sounded like bedroom. He gave a nod all the same when Sherlock looked down at him, though he didn’t know what for at all. It didn't matter, he supposed.

 

Sherlock let out a quick breath, feeling annoyed with his partner but also afraid of the hollowness that had entered the sapphire eyes. The vampire had seen that look before, in slaves that worked for the Adler’s. Sherlock, who was not feeling very patient at the moment, picked John up carefully and placed the man over his shoulder, taking the weight easily and without fuss. He moved quickly to his room, a lot more quickly than if he had had to wait for John to stumble along, and placed the human on the bed, pulling back and looking at the human. But his gaze was fixed on the floor, and that made Sherlock irritated. "Don't you dare sulk on me," he growled softly, crossing his arms over his chest like an annoyed mother.

 

John was just so fucking tired. Mentally, physically, spiritually. It was all just shit. He didn't care when Sherlock practically picked him up like a sack of potatoes, sitting up on the bed and looking to the floor. His hands slowly clenched into fists though when Sherlock spoke, sounding annoyed. The fucking bastard was fucking _annoyed_?! "I can do whatever I fucking want to." He snapped back, the words slurred, but the anger still so obviously evident.

 

Sherlock let out another growl, though this time it had no words along with it. He'd have to be lenient; John wasn't fully capable of realizing how his words would affect the situation. Or he was completely aware, he was just very aware of that fact, but he was using drunkenness as an excuse to get away with it. In either case, Sherlock would have to be patient. "I know you're not pleased with my decision, but you would hate me in the morning," he explained, straining to stay pleasant. "You know you would, and I don't want to risk that." He sat down opposite the human, sitting forward and trying to connect. This was hard, being kind when you were annoyed. He'd much rather throw a hissy-fit. But he couldn't. He was trying to be placating for John's sake.

 

John looked away, feeling anger bubble in his stomach. "Fine. Whatever." He growled. "If you're not going to fuck me, then go away." He flopped down on the bed, curling in on himself, shutting his eyes tightly. Why couldn't Sherlock just do that one thing- just that one fucking thing? He wasn't going to do it, so better he just leave. John didn't want to see him have his big bratty fit about how it wasn't fucking fair to him, about how John was being annoying or whatever. He was just so fucking sick of that- of everything, really.

 

Sherlock let out a hiss. "Don't bloody tell me to leave," he said, going to sit on the bed to spite John. "You're being extremely childish." A part of the vampire wanted to flip John over and fuck him into the mattress, make it as unpleasant as possible and make him regret asking for it. "And I'm not going to leave so you can forget it."

 

"Why?" John brought his head up a bit, his glazed eyes narrowing into a glare. "Why do you even wanna be here? I'm just some stupid, pathetic ol' human who's some big annoyance to you." He curled tighter in on himself, glaring at the blurry wall ahead. "Probably why you don't want to, is that right?" He growled before his body clenched up a bit. "And I can tell you whatever the hell I want to." Alright, it didn't have the same meaning he was going for, but whatever.

 

Sherlock, suddenly very fed up and sick of playing nice. John was being stubborn and annoying it was about time Sherlock showed him something. He moved like a blur, rolling him on his back and straddling the human. "Trust me when I say I want to fuck you very badly," he growled lowly. "But I dwarf you, don't I?" His body was so much larger ham the human's, he would hurt him. "And at the moment you're being very annoying, but not all the time." He leant forward, so his face was right by John's. He smelt rather unpleasant, like strong alcohol.

 

Johns heart stuttered when he was suddenly on his back, looking up at Sherlock. He couldn't hear him, not really. Well, maybe a little. The speed of everything was making him dizzy. Something tightened in his stomach, but John ignored it, instead choosing to think that it was simply his stomach being a bit sick from the alcohol. He didn't say anything, just stared up at the other. If he wanted to do it, why wasn't he? John- John wanted it. He did. He was sure he did. 

 

Sherlock saw something flash only briefly in John's eyes, and he smiled cruelly, putting on an act. He'd feel guilty for scaring John later probably, and the human might not want to speak to him after this, but Sherlock had deter him this delusion. John would have to either accept Sherlock wouldn't do this, or John would be too frightened to ask again. It was a sacrifice Sherlock decided he would make. He still had Alexander. "Tell me," he purred lowly, leaning down and grinning, "that I don't remind you of the vampire who ruined your body," he hissed, letting his red eyes darken. "Tell me with complete truth as you look into my eyes and I will turn you over and fuck you." He tilted his head, a very predatory gesture, and raised his eyebrows, though he couldn't be completely sure of what John would do.

 

John, who was already delusional as it was, had his breaking point. He stared up at Sherlock, his mouth suddenly rather dry, and his hands fisted into the sheets. What was he doing? Why was he-?

 

_"C'mon Johnny-" Claw-like fingers tore into the flesh of his thighs, a muffled scream coming out of his mouth, nearly wanting to choke on the gag. "Tell me the truth- you like it, dont'cha? You love this, dont'cha?" Something pounded at his entrance, the sensation burning, numbing. John kept his head down, cheeks scraping against the ground with the force of the thrust, shutting his eyes tightly and trying to forget that he was here, forget that this was happening, because it wasn't. It was all just a very, very bad dream and he was going to wake up and it was all going to be okay. "I want you to say it. C'mon," The hand that was plastered onto his hip detracted, grabbed onto the gag and tugging it out of his mouth. John gasped, his teeth chattering. He wasn't here he wasn't here hewasn'therehewasn'there- "Say it." He hissed low, right in his ear. "Say it."_

 

His heart was beating too loud and he couldn't breathe and it all hurt. But no- nonononononononono he wasn't here, he wasn't there, he was at the Holmes' and they- they were the same, weren't they? All the same and they were just going to ruin him too and oh god John felt sick and it all hurt so much and he was going to be sick. John's breathing came in tiny rasps for air, his eyes distant as he tried to forget and forget and forget but he couldn't hecouldn'thecouldn'thecouldn't. "I- I-"Sherlock hadn't even fucked him and here he was, having a panic attack underneath him. But it wasn't Sherlock- his fucked up brain was deciding that no, it wasn't. It was him, he was over John and the human could do nothing but shake and quiver because it was going to happen all over again. He couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe. "S-Stop-" He bit his lip so hard it began to bleed, the word just escaping his mouth. Oh god, he'd said it. The vampire was going to kill him, wasn't he? John- and John couldn't stop him and- and he was going to do it again and he was going to die. John felt light headed and he was crying and- and... oh shit. He'd... he'd soiled himself. Oh god he'd fucking peed his fucking pants. Of course that wasn't something he focused on, though he couldn't focus on anything. It was all just painpainpainpainpainpainpain.

 

And then Sherlock was off the human, on the other side of the room, swallowing and taking slow breaths. He'd wanted this, he had, to make John stop being so forward, but this was his fault and now he felt terrible and it was clawing at his chest and it was all-. Sherlock came back to John, apologies falling out of his mouth like the breaths that were now ragged and tearing up his immortal vocal chords. "John," he said, hesitant to touch the other. But he couldn't leave him like this. "John oh god I'm so sorry I didn't- shhh it's alright nothing's happening I won't hurt you JohnohgodI'msosorry." He sat beside the human now instead. John had wet himself, oh crap. "John hush shhh it's okay I won't touch you," his hands were hovering, not moving, he wanted to hold John and pull him back and keep him safe and make him happy again. Sherlock was rocking slightly, eyes pricking so fiercely he was sure tears would drip down his face, but nothing. "I'm sorry John he's not here I'm sorry John I'm sorry I'm so sorry." Like a mantra, repeated words and reassurances he wasn't even sure would work. He wouldn't touch John again. He'd crossed the line; he'd pushed John too far. John would leave. Go to a female vampire. Sherlock hadn't thought that far ahead and look at what had happened. John was crying and Sherlock was tugging at his hair and almost sobbing along with him because his dead heart was in two but he had to be strong and John was breaking down. "I'll leave the room, I'll get Greg, John I'm sorry what do you-" Sherlock swallowed, it was all a little much, but he couldn't do anything without John's say so, if he could form words at all.

 

John moved onto his side, curling into a tight ball and shaking violently, trying to protect himself from... well, everything. His arms wrapped around himself, feeling so stupid and cold and hurting and hollow. But he'd asked for that, hadn't he? He'd asked for it. So it was his fault. His fault his fault his faulthisfault. Everything was. If he'd just kept his mouth shut and stayed in line like the rest, just like the rest, but no he had to do things that made him noticed and it was his fault. He pressed his face into the covers, but his cries were silent. It was a trick- the wailing ones always got carried out into the back and whipped, and John couldn't afford to have any more scars. He didn't want to be alone- when he was alone, it was always the worst; those were the moments that the handler got him. But he- he didn't want Sherlock to be here. If it even was anymore. The distinction between vampires had suddenly left his brain, all of them bundled up together and forming a single body that was simply bad. He rocked back and forth, trying to calm himself, trying not to be so pathetic, but his body was hurting and his head was throbbing and his heart was racing and he just didn't know what to do.

 

John wasn't replying to him. He wasn't replying and Sherlock had no idea what to do. So he ran. Not like a teenage girl would run from an emotional fight, but he was literally in the bedroom one minute, a blur, then in the kitchen, hawk like eyes finding Greg immediately. Sherlock went over and took no time picking him up. Sherlock had fucked up, but Greg could help. John went to Greg for help, he could help now. The vampire went back to the room, only slightly slower so he didn't break the butler and he set him down at the foot of the bed, backing away to the corner as he said with a raspy voice, "Fix him."

 

Greg was just about to get up when he was being moved, his cry of surprise melting away with the abruptness of it all. Then Greg was at the foot of a bed and it smelt like piss and whiskey and Sherlock was talking and- "Crap." Greg said, coming forward. Sherlock had done something or crossed the line. Something had happened and John had broken. Greg swallowed, wincing at the state of the younger man. No one should have to be forced into such a state. He walked forward, sitting right beside the blond, not touching him yet. "Hey, Watson, mate, it's Greg. Can you hear me?" His voice was calm and soft, yet it was loud enough that a drunk person could hear him. "I'm here to help." Greg wouldn't break down. He'd heard Sherlock’s tone; this wasn't a time for pussy-footing. The butler ignored the state of the bed, the fluids didn't bother him. He'd lived in this environment for months, he could deal with it. "John mate," the butler tried again, using the others first name.

 

John remained curled, his back trembling. The hands weren't just ghosting anymore- they were gripping, crushing, bruising, and oh god it hurt. But then- but then there was someone there. They were- they were warm and- and alive and- and that was good. Lifting his head a bit, John tried to clear his vision, sucking down tiny breaths as his hands simply continued to tremble. "G-Greg?" He was at the Holmes' manor still. Of course he was- and Greg was human. Wonderfully alive, wonderfully warm, and wonderfully human. Uncurling just slightly, John brought himself over to the man as best as he could, his head ending up landing on the others thigh, curling up there instead and trying to take comfort in him. He was human- it was fine. This was fine now, right?

 

Sherlock felt his insides twist at what he was watching, John almost immediately going to the butler. It was something Sherlock would never be able to give to John. Someone to live with. Sherlock slid down the wall. He wasn't needed.

 

Greg let out a small breath, relieved that John was coming out of his panic. "Hey buddy," he said, putting a hand on the blond's back. "Come here," he murmured, moving the smaller guy and wiping his face with a soft touch he saved for children and Mycroft. He peered at the other guy, smiling sadly. "It's okay, you're safe here, you're okay." He murmured, pulling John into a hug. It wasn't tender, or loving. It was a hug of support. A tough hug for John to hold onto, something to anchor himself to. Greg had one arm over John's shoulder and the other under his arm, in a way he would hug John in any other circumstance. He pat the other's back softly, keeping the smaller man in his arms in an almost awkward position that he wasn't going to change.

 

John sniffled, gripping Greg tightly. This was what he needed right now- the comfort of another loving being. He could hear Greg's heartbeat, feel it against himself, and god it was by far the most comforting thing he'd ever felt. Well, perhaps not the most, but close. Very close. He buried his head into the other mans shoulder, feeling a bit bad for getting it wet with his tears, but that could hardly be helped at the moment. His back and shoulders were still shaking quite a lot, though they were slowly calming as well.

 

Mycroft had heard the commotion before, but hadn't thought all too much of it. If something was wrong with John, then Sherlock could handle it, he was sure. His brother was handling the human’s problems as well as he could, Mycroft was sure, and was too proud to come for assistance. But when he smelt Greg's scent... well, he felt the need to get involved. Gliding through the manor, Mycroft didn't bother with a knock before soundlessly entering the room, analyzing the scene. His grip tightened on the handle of the door as several things came to his mind. Red eyes snapping onto Sherlock, he nodded his head to outside the door, gesturing for him to come.

 

Greg sat absolutely still, just letting John cry himself out. That was what he was here for anyway. He talked carefully, offering reassurances and rubbing John's back. It was often hard, to see a grown man sob his eyes out, but in a trafficking ring everyone cried, there was no limits to who would and who wouldn't. Often, it was the toughest looking people who would crack, and while John had taken his time here, it seemed he'd reached his limits. "It's okay," Greg murmured, blinking quickly so any memories would dissipate.

 

Sherlock blinked when he saw his brother, and wanted to his hide himself. This was all his fault after all. He stood without a noise, blinking quickly and regaining as much composure as he could before facing his elder. He didn't want to be weak, but it felt like it would be hard. When they were out in the hall, and Sherlock leaned against the wall, listening to the calming sniffs that came from his partner. "Mycroft," he said softly, and didn't look at his older brother.

 

Mycroft watched his brother for several long moments, simply staring at him. Not in an analytical way, or an accusing way- he was just... staring at him. He stood at the side, his posture calm, though he was much less than calm at the moment. Because _this_ was not alright. Sherlock had promised him he would take better care of the human, he'd even shown that he had feelings for him, and yet here they were. Mycroft was disappointed, angry, frustrated, and slightly infuriated. Maybe a bit more than 'slightly'. "Sherlock." He said finally, the tone he used simply blank, like his stare. It took him several more moments to say something. "I believe I know what happened, but would you care to enlighten me on how your stupidity left John Watson in the state he is currently in?" The word stupidity was said a bit sharper than the other words.

 

Sherlock flinched at his brother’s words. It wasn't often he gave underneath the older Holmes, but at the moment he was worried and he had been stupid and John was in a state and it was his fault. If he'd just left it, let John sulk, none of this would be happening. "John was raped two years ago," he blurted out, hands going to his hair, "and tonight he got drunk, telling me to fuck him. And I couldn't. I wouldn't. So he begged me and started to sulk so I may have asked him if I reminded him of his assailant. He happened to have a flash back, and then he went like this." Sherlock was taking in panting breaths, the guilt consuming him. "And I didn't know what to do so I got Greg and John started calming down immediately and it couldn't do anything and he's scared of me and it's my fault Myc and he doesn't trust me-" he cut off, slamming his head against the wall, almost leaving a dent in it. If he had been human, his hair would have been pulled out. He didn't have a right to be freaking out, yet here he was, when he should be doing something, but he couldn't because he couldn't breathe. He didn't need to, but he couldn't and he was freaking out without a right.

 

Mycroft listened, nothing really surprising him. He'd made several random guesses, most of which were true at this moment. His eyes narrowed as Sherlock finished, easily seeing his brothers distress in all of this. Well, it was completely obvious to begin with, really. "Sherlock, calm down." He said calmly, bringing out his hand and placing it on his brother’s shoulder carefully. "If you keep on having such... distress, then nothing will get better. Not for you, not for John. No one." He said, looking the other firmly in the eyes. "I do believe that you know that you've made a very, very horrid mistake, so I will not scold you for it. Not now, at the very least. But I am going to tell you this: for now, leave John alone. He's trusting Greg- he needs humans, not vampires. Give him time to mend himself. This is not a mess I advise you try to fix."

 

Sherlock froze, listening to Mycroft's words. He looked at his brother. It wasn't often he broke down, and now Mycroft was helping him. On an impulse he moved and pulled himself into his brother’s arms.

"I'm an idiot Mycroft," he almost sobbed, hugging tightly. He knew his brother was right, and it was irritating him through his haze of worry that he was experiencing. "I'm not-" he hiccupped, slightly embarrassed. He wasn't twelve, yet he was holding onto the other like he was. "I'm not normal. I'm not good for him," he buried his head in Mycroft's chest. Crap he was pathetic.

 

Well, Mycroft couldn't argue with that at all. From an outside viewing on how their relationship worked, one could easily say that Sherlock wasn't good for John. At all. But Mycroft wouldn't say that. "Neither of us are normal, Sherlock. You and I both know that well." He kept his voice soft; stroking his brother’s hair in a way he thought would be comforting. "And despite what I say, you aren't an idiot... in some aspects, maybe, but you have a very high intelligence..." Alright, not very comforting, but at least he was trying. "Just give him time. That's all he needs, Sherlock. It is going to be long, and hard, but soon he'll be fine, trust me on that. He cares for you, and you care for him."

 

Sherlock took in a shaky breath. Mycroft was actually helping somewhat, so that was a miracle within itself. "Time is the only things humans don't have," Sherlock mumbled, keeping his head hidden. Time in general was something human's did not have excess of, and it was a frustrating fact. In a way the way Mycroft was failing to give comfort was comforting. If he had been saying exactly what he needed to say it would seem fake, yet this somewhat awkward help was familiar and welcomed.

 

Mycroft paused for a second, recalling an earlier conversation with Greg before he sighed, closing his eyes. "I know. And it's horrid, but if you want him to heal, then you have to give that much to him. Just a little time, Sherlock. For you, it will be a blink of an eye." He knew well of how fast time was suddenly seeming to pass for him. He'd lived for hundreds of years- twenty more was a blink of an eye. Five more was barely a blip. And that in itself was terrifying. Because he didn't want Greg to be here now and then suddenly a blip in the future. Mycroft knew he wouldn't be, but the thought of how short human lives were, how frail and so easily taken was something that was almost nauseating for him to think about. He wished he had met Greg sooner. When his hair wasn't so gray and his skin had less creases, just so that he could have watched those crows feet grow on the edges of his eyes and the roots turn to that ashy grey.

 

Sherlock nodded, pulling back and rubbing his face. He turned away from his brother after giving him a small smile. "It seems that I'll have to," he murmured, touching the wall that his partner and brother’s partner were currently behind. He let out a long breath, and turned back to his brother. "Oh, while I'm at it, I was showing off to John earlier in the day and showed off my foresight, the Adler's look like they're planning something; I would think to keep our eyes on them." His emotions were like a switch. Now that his mind could focus on something other than the blond then he had no reason to dwell. The feeling was still there, of course, large and overbearing, but now he didn't have to show it. "What do you think? Have a look," Mycroft's foresight was better than his, as he'd had longer to mature and he practiced it more often.

 

Mycroft felt his lip twitch at the thought of the Adler’s planning something, but he wasn't all too worried. They were sneaky, but they were foolish, and Alexander was an idiot at best. They could hardly come up with any sort of plan that would work. "Alright," Mycroft placed two fingers to his temple, a simple method that helped him focus. He hardly doubted that he would need to- the Adlers were barely a threat to him at all, or any of them in general when they had a nice big bag of blackmail hanging over their heads. The beginning of his foresight were irrelevant sort of things: John would cry for several more hours before falling asleep, Mrs. Hudson would yell at Clara for trying to sneak Harry a drink, Greg would sit with John through the night. He stretched his senses further, remaining stiff and calm. Alexander would lust after Sherlock again but not come over, Irene would fume about not having John, and-

 

Mycroft froze. His body stiffened, every muscle coiling and nearly cramping as he stood. His eyes snapped open then, staring forwards. If it had been possible, he would have become paler with the thing -no, the person- he was seeing. But...no- he couldn't be here now. It was- "Moriarty." He kept his voice even as possible. "Moriarty is at the Adler’s. They're... planning on a visit."


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> squeeeeeeeeee
> 
> sorry for not having updated in a while  
> life...
> 
> dundundundundun
> 
> usual warnings apply :)
> 
> ENJOYXX

Sherlock let out a loud hiss. That was not as good, and a lot bigger than he had expected. That bloody vampire. As a human he'd been cruel, with the abilities that came with being a vampire he'd gone mad. Moriarty was prestigious, he had a whole following, but he left death and trauma wherever he went. Sherlock shuddered as he remembered the sick infatuation that vampire had had with him the last time he'd been around. He'd killed off four of his workers and there had been nothing he could do as Moriarty was a lord and held that ability, Sherlock couldn't have told him to stop without raising suspicion. John, Gregory, Harry, Molly, Sebastian... All of his workers, he couldn't let them get killed by some mad man with a demon in his soul. Sherlock swallowed. "The servants," he said, eyes wide. He knew Moriarty held some sort of ability, it was very apparent, but he didn't know what it was. They needed to... Prepare, get everyone together. "Let’s call a manor meeting to the kitchen, excluding our two men, and inform everyone. Tell workers to be on best behavior, ensure John and Gregory are off 'sick', keep them in their quarters to be completely safe, inform Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock was pacing up and down the hall. Moriarty made him very uneasy, and the young vampire knew he needed to stay calm but he was struggling slightly. He took a few deep breaths, effectively doing as he needed as he turned to his brother, the one really in charge of this operation. "What do you think?" He asked, eyes very intense as he waited impatiently.

 

Mycroft watched the wheels in his brothers head turn, hands folded behind his back as he did so. "We'll need to have a constant eye on them. Not just humans, Moriarty or one of the Adlers can take their minds and mold them like putty. You and I need to keep them in sight at all times- be polite, but be vigilant. As for Gregory and John... keep Mrs. Hudson posted near the door. She can hold her own if something does happen, I'm sure, and she can't be glamored." He nodded his head. They had to prepare for war now. Moriarty was deadly, delirious, but very very sharp. Cunning. Clever. Mycroft was glad he had never known him as a man, though he wasn't all too happy about knowing him at all. The last visit had been less than pleasant -four new graves in the backyard- and Mycroft didn't want a repeat. "It will barely matter if they're on their best behavior... he's a madman, Sherlock. He'll find a reason to kill somehow." Mycroft said quietly, looking down to the ground, as though the thought of losing yet another human was... distressing. He was simply happy that Greg would be held away somewhere else for this visit- Mycroft had to practically glue the butler to his side to make sure that he was safe the last time.

 

Sherlock nodded, clapped Mycroft on the arm in a way of showing his alliance. "I'll go inform everyone," he said, about to turn away, but then he stopped, hesitating only slightly before staying, "I'll take on Moriarty and be his babysitter, you take the Adlers, they're more intimidated by you, and less likely to kill than him." His eyes hardened slightly. None if his workers would die. He paused waiting to see if his brother approved. At any other point in time he would not even bother to ask for his brothers input, but at the moment he was a Private and Mycroft was Commander. This was Mycroft's area, he was much more equipped, and as much as Sherlock acted like he didn't care, his whole entire being if trust belonged to his elder. It was probably an idiotic choice, but his choice none-the-less.

 

Mycroft nodded his head before twitching just slightly, looking over his brother with an impassive expression. "Just... be careful. I don't want anyone to be lost to him." He didn't doubt Moriarty would try to kill Sherlock, or at the very least injure him. It possibly wouldn't be intentional, or maybe it would, but Moriarty was hardly stable, and he didn't very much like the idea of his brother being so close to the maniac.

 

Sherlock nodded, keeping his eyes on his brother for only a moment more before moving down the hallway, quickly as he was with purpose. He got to the kitchen, nodding towards Mrs. Hudson who was smiling. Sherlock almost felt guilty he was about to ruin the mood. He moved to the side of the kitchen, and brought out a huge brass bell, flicking his eyes to the older vampires now concerned expression. He raised the bell and brought it down forcefully, the resulting clang being huge and echoing around. He did it again, and again, moving around the room so it would echo around and down the different hallways.

 

Greg, who was cradling John's head and holding him as he rested, broke his almost fatherly gaze from John's face and looked up and around. The bell. It wasn't often that it was rung, and it normally meant something rather important. But John. He definitely couldn't get up and about, and the blond probably wouldn't want to be seen in such a state anyway. Greg debated internally for a total time of ten seconds before he settled back down and started his babysitting duties. He might fall asleep soon enough, but until then he'd make sure John was alright.

 

Mycroft moved to the kitchen along with his brother, standing beside the other and flicking his eyes to Mrs. Hudson once before returning them to the front. Soon enough, the servants came filing in, looking to one another carefully before looking to the vampires expectantly. The bell wasn't wrung often, and they could only imagine why it was ringing now, really. Mycroft looked over to Sherlock before letting his eyes drift back to the humans. "My brother and I are terribly sorry to interrupt your daily routines, but we have an announcement." He sighed, shutting his eyes for a moment before opening them. "Moriarty is coming to the manor. Now, we know this may cause you alarm-"

 

"Alarm?" Sebastian scoffed as several began to panic silently, worried and frightened glances going around. "He fuckin' killed people the last time he was here! Any one of us could be next!" Now the humans really began to panic, their whispers turning to manic yells of death and Moriarty and the vampires.

 

The elder Holmes rubbed at his temples. "Now if you'll all just calm down-" No one was even listening to him, really. Mycroft pursed his lips. "I said calm down-" Still, no one. Growing frustrated, Mycroft felt his hands clench into loose fists. "Silence!" And then, it was quiet. Satisfied, Mycroft waited a moment before speaking again. "We don't need anyone panicking needlessly. We'll need everyone to remain calm, and be on your best behavior. Don't give him any reason to harm you." He flicked his eyes to Sherlock carefully, as if conveying another message: Don't give him any reason to hurt them.

 

Sherlock nodded along with his brother, letting him lead for the moment. The rising hysteria would be a problem throughout the whole thing if the servants weren't reassured. When the younger Holmes was sure Mycroft had finished speaking, he said his own part. "I'm assigning myself to him, like a guide almost, and I assure all of you that if he even tries to touch any of you, then-"

 

"What about the two pets?"

 

Sherlock stopped, gaze flicking towards the person who'd interrupted him. Molly. She was standing at the front of the group, and there was an almost collective murmur of agreement, mixed with confusion. Another voice spoke up now too.

 

"Yeah, where's my brother and Greg?" Harriet asked, and Sherlock’s eyes flicked to his brother quickly. He was slightly unsure how he would go about this.

 

"John has happened to fall ill, Gregory has volunteered to take-"

 

"That's convenient." Called Sebastian, and Sherlock swallowed, feeling slightly cornered.

 

"Yeah he seemed fine the way you were kissing him in the corridor," Molly called out, a wicked glint her eye.

 

"You were kissing him?" Harry turned to Molly. "What do you mean he was kissing him?” Her little brother... With the vampire. That couldn't be consensual.

Molly shrugged. "It's what I walked in on, a good snog..."

That caused a rumble of disapproval.

 

"'Ow's that fair? The two pretty boys get to stay safe while we risk our necks?" Sherlock was breathing slightly hitched, eyes going to his brother again as if to ask for help.

 

Mycroft felt a small pinch of panic himself, knowing well that he simply couldn't tell then the truth. There were too many questions here, too many of them getting in a rile. Growing frustrated, Mycroft straightened his back. He supposed they wouldn't listen to lies, so he'd simply give them the truth. Not the whole truth, of course- not the details. But it was still the truth. "John Watson is currently having a breakdown in my brother’s bedroom, and Gregory is trying to comfort and care for him. If any of you would like to go up there and deal with a crying, sniveling man for more than a day then please, be my guest." His hardened eyes wandered over the humans, a silence seeming to have fallen over them. Everyone had enough problems of their own- they didn't want to have to deal with Watson’s. "Good. Now- if Moriarty, or one of the Adlers, does ask about where the two are, you will simply respond that they are sick. Does everyone understand?"

 

Sherlock was somewhat surprised at Mycroft’s choice to actually tell the truth. John would probably not want his situation outed to his co-workers, but by the way everyone had silenced and then started nodding at the elder Holmes' words, it had been the correct course of action. There was a noise of collective agreement for a moment, then a voice spoke up.

 

"What if they try to have sex with us?" Clara said, and that made a ripple of worry go through the company, and Sherlock replied almost immediately.

 

"They will not touch any of you. If they have any... Urges, or temptations, I have nominated myself to take your places." Had he told his brother this bit? Maybe he hadn't. "After all, a vampire prince would be more fun than a breakable human." It made a small noise of concern but also of agreement. They would much rather a vampire than themselves, so they wouldn't protest. "So everyone is clear on what's happening?" Sherlock looked around. "Good, now get in your number ones and practice obedience, Mrs. Hudson, you stay here for a moment, we wish to talk to you in private." Sherlock didn't look at his brother, just watched the humans disperse. They'd be alright; they would have to make it through this.

 

Mycroft managed to maintain his own calm until the humans left, breathing in sharply before turning towards his brother. "You're not doing it. You're not." He hissed, feeling annoyed and frustrated with his utterly stupid brother. "Why would you even suggest that? Why would you even-?" Mycroft massaged his temple, grinding his teeth together in aggravation. "I'll not have it, Sherlock. I won't. If they have any 'urges or temptations', they'll do kindly to simply leave." He knew that wasn't the way things were going to go- he knew that well, but he did like to think he had control over the situation at least somewhat. "The humans may be breakable, but you do understand what you'll be doing when you suddenly sign up for that with Moriarty? He'll degrade you- he'll humiliate you."

 

Sherlock watched his brother with an almost flat expression while he spoke, and while the younger Holmes was flattered with the worry his brother seemed to feel there was no changing his mind. "There is no other way around it," he replied politically, touching his brother’s arm. "Better I get degraded than one of them die." He gave a wry smile at his own thoughts. "Might put me in my place a little bit," he hummed, shaking his head. "Don't worry about me. I've had sex with both the Adlers, at the same time; sex with one man couldn't be that much different." He didn't want to add on that it probably wouldn't be sex more than it would be a ruthless pounding to show dominance, because Mycroft already knew that.

 

Mycroft's expression twitched a little with Sherlock's words, though defeat was evident in the way he sighed. He supposed it was better than another death, but he still didn't like it. "Fine." He said after a moment before looking to his brother seriously. "But I will have you know, after this I don't want you to go and flaunt around with Alexander anymore." He said firmly, deciding that it was best to get this out of the way rather quickly- he had been meaning to discuss it with Sherlock before all of this, actually.

 

Sherlock blinked, and it melted into a frown. Of course he wouldn't go and have casual sex with the Adler anymore. He would have to stay faithful to whatever he and John had between them, and that would mean not participating in that activity with Alex. "Of course," he said, and couldn't stop the thought that crept into his head. _You might be too afraid anyway._ Sherlock shook his head. It could very well not even happen. There was no point in thinking about it if it wasn't a certainty. The younger vampire cleared his throat, turning to Mrs. Hudson, offering a polite smile and a nod. "I apologize for Mycroft," he said, and the old woman shook her head with a tut.

 

"He's just looking out for you dear," she said, coming forward and straightening his shirt in a motherly way. She pursed her lips. "I'm not pleased that that man is on his way, but I'm happy you're both working your hardest to keep these people safe." She nodded, and Sherlock offered a small smile.

 

"Yes, thank you." He paused, taking her hands away from his chest. "As another precaution, we want you to set yourself up by John and Gregory." Was that the correct way to broach it? He didn't know. He flicked his eyes to his brother, and raised an eyebrow. Maybe he could explain it better.

 

"My brother and I would rather much appreciate it if you kept... some sort of guard on the two. John is unwell, and I fear that if we set up one of the humans to station themselves their, the Adlers or Moriarty would manipulate them." Mycroft said simply, flicking his eyes to Sherlock in return. It wouldn't be a hard job, and Mycroft did doubt that their guests would take much interest in a broken human, but he couldn't be sure. There would be taking no risks in this.

 

Sherlock nodded, and Mrs. Hudson smiled. "Of course dearies, it won't be hard at all. Does Gregory know of your plans for him? He might be a bit frightened to find me camping outside his door." The woman laughed at her own joke, and Sherlock did the same, humoring her.

 

"I don't think he does," Sherlock said, looking to the ceiling, where the men probably were. "I shall go and do that now." He nodded to his brother, and exited the room without another word. So much could go wrong tomorrow, and while time normally seemed to move very quickly for him, at the moment it was moving double time, as if the next days dawn was rearing at a leash to get to them.

 

Mycroft watched his brother go, not trying to stop them. He bid Mrs. Hudson a polite farewell with a small smile, going around instead to see how everyone was making their preparations. Upstairs, John had managed to stop crying, instead sniffling on Greg’s lap and staring at the others shirt, though that was the only thing that was currently in front of him. He was silent, trying to get over himself a bit. Sherlock... he wasn't the handler. He knew that. But it was just... the way he'd smiled and- and how he had just been over him, reminding him of how small he was… it was too much for him, especially a more drunken version of him.

 

Sherlock walked upstairs on silent tread, and when he got to the door, he knocked softly. "It's Sherlock," he informed softly, unsure if his presence would upset John. "Can I come in?"

Greg started, hand that had been carefully holding the back of John's head tightened marginally, until he heard who it was. Greg was about to give complete access for the vampire, until he remembered the reason why John was actually even in his lap. Greg touched John's cheek lightly, crease forming between his eyebrows. "Would you mind if Sherlock came in here... I think he has something important to tell the both of us..." He gave a reassuring smile, though in truth he had no idea what Sherlock would want to say, unless it was an apology.

 

John sniffled, wiping at his eyes a bit and trying to make himself relax after Sherlock knocked at the door, shutting his eyes tightly for a moment. Did he want him to come in? Would he just see the handler again, those twisted features and that horrid smile again? Maybe. He didn't- he just didn't know. "Y-Yeah... he can come in..." He said after several minutes of consideration, his voice quiet and hoarse.

 

Greg nodded, pulling John closer to him. "Yeah you can Sherlock," he said, and Sherlock nodded tightly to himself. He opened the door almost silently, keeping to the edge of the room like a frightened animal because his eyes had flicked to John and he didn't want to frighten him. "Right," Sherlock rumbled, leaning against the wall. "I've something to tell the pair of you," he started, and Greg raised an eyebrow. Sherlock swallowed and decided to just get it over with. "Moriarty is visiting tomorrow, so Mycroft and I've out the pair of you under Mrs. Hudson's watch so you won't be in danger."

 

Greg sat in silence for a moment as he processed that information. "Wait..." He flicked his eyes down to John. "Moriarty?"

 

"Yes," Sherlock replied flatly, and Greg almost gagged.

 

"What about everyone else?"

 

"I've elected to stay around Moriarty to make sure he doesn't hurt anyone."

 

Greg shook his head slowly. "That's not safe..." He said, concern tracing his face.

 

"Better me than anyone else," Sherlock replied in an almost monotonous tone. His eyes were fixed on John, and he was happy that the human hadn't been around when Moriarty had visited previously. That vampire was a stain and he soiled everything he touched. John was on the mend and he didn't want him to be hurt any more than he was.

 

John listened, not very much liking how Greg seemed so worried about this 'Moriarty' at all. And then it came to Sherlock apparently doing... whatever with him. John didn't like that. He didn't like that at all. Lifting his head, John’s face remained tear stained and a bit pink, the man letting out another sniffle as his eyes remained wide and round. He felt pathetic like this, but it wasn't the time to dwell on himself. "No..." He mumbled, shaking his head. "If... if it's not safe, then… then don't."

 

Sherlock felt the corner of his lips twitch upwards. Even when John had every right to be terrified of him and loathe his guts, John still tried to keep the vampire safe. He was too kind. "I would rather it be someone less fragile than someone who is," Sherlock said almost conversationally. "Last time we took no precautions and four staff died. Mycroft and myself will not let that be repeated." John had to realize that the vampire coming to them was not one that could be labeled sane. He had to be treated with extreme caution, and John should definitely not be around him. Or Irene either for that matter. She was looking for a toy and to take him from Sherlock would make him an even more delectable prize.

 

Eyes widening, John immediate fear of this 'Moriarty', though swallowed it down as he shakily pushed himself off of Greg. He was a bit glad that he'd gotten himself a new pair of pants from the closer, really- it wouldn't be very good to have the ones he'd pissed himself in on at the moment, sitting at the edge of the bed, limbs trembling from more of the exertion of crying than fear. "....be careful though, okay?"

 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and chuckled softly. "Aren't I always careful John?" He asked, turning to leave. John was still tired and being around would not help him, though, the room was starting to smell quite strongly of urine. "I would recommend moving to one of the other bedrooms in the manor," he said carefully, smiling softly at his- at the human. "Mrs. Hudson will clean the bed up and you can come back but at the moment-" he nodded towards Greg, who did the same in reply. Sherlock then left the room, starting his rounds on all the staff just like his brother was doing.

Greg sat up also, moving off the bed and stretching slightly. "He's right," the butler stated, turning and cracking his back with a wince. He had gotten used to the smell but it was still pretty bad, and Greg walked over to John, clapping him on the shoulder. "Let’s go to Mycroft's room aye?"

 

John watched Sherlock go, and suddenly began to wish -not for the first time- that he wasn't so broken. This... this Moriarty was going to go about the manor, and would probably end up killing several humans, while he'd be put away in some safe little corner because he was too fragile, because he was too frail. He didn't like being weak- he hated being treated like this. But he knew it was for the best, as horrible as it was for him. It was better to be treated like china rather than to die. "Yeah," John stood then, wincing slightly at the pain in his ribs. "Okay."

 

Greg helped John up, wrapping an arm around the other's waist. "There's a bloody big bath in his room," the butler informed, grabbing some clothes that hung off the back of a chair as they walked past it. "It's really bloody nice, I'd recommend it." He smiled, helping John through the door, recognizing a small look of self loathing pass over John's eyes. Greg hesitated, then said, "Would you like to walk by yourself?" After all, sometimes doing things for yourself when you felt like a burden on other people helped.

 

John looked to Greg, blinking in surprise that he offered to let him walk on his own, though nodded all the same. "Yeah." John waited till Greg had detached himself from his being before making his way forwards, his legs feeling weak, but he was fine. The least he could do was bloody walk on his own- he wasn't a toddler, and he wasn't helpless.

 

Greg felt the urge to stick right by the blond, but instead walked forward more, leading the way to Mycroft's room. John was walking fine in his own he didn't need to be hovered over. Greg reached the room in a short amount of time, opening the door up for John, and Greg threw the clothes at the back of his head. "Bathrooms to the right, get cleaned up and change into those," he ordered lightly, wondering if Mrs. Hudson knew they'd change rooms. She'd use her nose probably and find them, though that might be a little bit of a hassle.

 

John nodded his head, picking up the clothes and heading to the bathroom. He didn't exactly take much notice to the size as he set down the pile of clothes, turning on the water. It felt good to sink into the water, really- it cleansed him of far more than simply dirt. He washed off the horrid touches and memories as best as he could, taking more time than he should have before he got out, taking his time on drying off as well. He took a moment to look at himself in the mirror, watching his reflection before moving to change, coming out of the bathroom slightly damp.

 


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7000 is a very big number  
> thanks guys im just wowowwo xx  
> also HAHAHAHA IM SO EXCITED ITS HEATING UP
> 
> ENJOYXX

Greg was pleased that John headed immediately to the bathroom, instead of inspecting the room. There was still some evidence of Mycroft's and his debauchery, he didn't want to explain it. So while John was bathing Greg busied himself with cleaning the room. Working as a butler had certainly honed his cleaning skills, he was pretty much the best, in his own lunchbox of course. Greg rushed around the little room, packing away dirty clothes and straightening the bed, he even wiped two fingers along some of the frames of the pictures hanging on the walls, ridding them of a thin layer of dust. Greg had just sat down and started staring at the wall when John reemerged from the bathroom, looking slightly less drunk and slightly happier. "Bath wash away some of that alcohol then?" He asked casually, resisting the urge to stand up and usher John to the bed.

 

John nodded his head soundlessly, coming over to the bed and laying down, feeling more than just a little exhausted at the moment. He didn't even know why, really- it was probably all of the crying. "Was it this hard for you and Mycroft? In the beginning?" Obviously, they wouldn't have the same problems, but at the very least it would be a bit nice to know that possibly someone else had had a few of the same problems when it came to all of this; human and vampire relationships or whatever else.

 

Greg raised an eyebrow, shrugging slightly at the question. "We're still in the beginnings," he mumbled, crossing his ankles and thinking. "Ahh, I don't think we had to deal with the vampire in the relationship being so unaware, and I certainly haven't been through what you have-" Greg paused, wondering if he should divulge some of the relationship, "but I have cried during foreplay and I don't think Mycroft quite knew what to do." The butler felt heat rise to his cheeks. "Let me elaborate further, I cried _today_ during foreplay, so I think our relationships are rather parallel in some sense." Greg looked over his shoulder to John and gave a small smile. It was hard, and they would have to support each other through this, seeing as it was almost like they were brother- in-laws now.

 

John nodded his head a bit. "I cried and pissed myself before he even tried to get to foreplay..." He mumbled, rubbing his arm a bit. That smile and that voice and the mere thought that Sherlock resembled and _was_ his assaulter had been horrid. "I just... I didn't know what to do. He was just over me, told me how he dwarfed me and asked me how he resembled him and I just..." He let the sentence die a bit, tears welling in his eyes again.

 

Greg swallowed, and sat silently as John relayed what had happened. Greg frowned and tried to think of it from Sherlock’s point of view. "I suppose he was trying to make you realize that you weren't ready," the butler said slowly. "I don't think he meant for you to have an attack, more for you to see that you would need to take it slowly." The silver haired man tapped John's knee with a hand, shaking his head a little. "I'm sorry that you have to go through this," he said, looking slightly upset.

 

John nodded his head, wiping his eyes a bit. "I-I know. He wouldn't... I know he wouldn't mean to." But still, the point stood; Sherlock hadn't a clue as to how to deal with John’s problems. But he shouldn't have to deal with them in the first place, really. John would just... he would deal with them. He could. He'd managed. He always did.

 

Greg nodded tightly, not pleased with this topic of conversation. "Those Holmes', our Holmes', they're not too aware, though I think you may have drawn the short straw for vampires who have social skills." The butler smiled wryly, scoffing. "He does try his best though. He seemed utterly distraught earlier today when he came down to get you food. I thought he was about to have a panic attack." Greg turned and tried to find a comfortable position as he faced the younger man, bones creaking only slightly.

 

John let his sleeve move over his nose, nodding his head a bit before remaining silent for a moment before looking to Greg again, brows furrowed. "...who's Moriarty anyways?" He questioned, wanting more answers than he had been given. Another vampire, he had guessed, and not a very nice one either.

 

Greg felt his eyes widen. He didn't actually want to divulge in who Moriarty actually was. It was the stuff of nightmares, and he didn't want to put that on John's shoulders. "You don't really want to know," the butler said carefully, face draining of color slightly. He swallowed, and rubbed his face. No one really wanted to know, not even the silver haired man himself wanted to think about it.

 

Well, that made John even more curious, though he simply sighed, laying himself down on the bed and closing his eyes, deciding to simply sleep. Sleep was good- it made him forget about things.

 

The day passed with a tense sort of air, everything oddly quiet in the manor in the morning, everyone tense and silent. They were all simply waiting for it- for the knock on the door. It came midday, the two humans at the door jumping and trembling slightly when they opened the door, Mycroft already standing at the front and forcing on a fake, strained smile. "Moriarty. It is a pleasure."

 

The vampire could unnerve anyone. He was dangerous, unpredictable, and easily changeable. He was dressed in a simple three piece suit, his lips curled up in a smile. It didn't really look like a smile rather than a crack in his features, a splinter within the mask of pleasantness. Mycroft could see the parasite, the spider crawling just behind his expression. "The pleasure is all mine." He bowed his head a bit then.

 

Sherlock stood in the hallway, tapping his fingers along his leg. It was as if the air in the house dropped, and the vampire stepped out as if he'd just walked around. "Jim!" He said excitedly, grinning. He came forward, pulling the other into a hug. "Obviously we've been expecting you," he said, pulling back with a chuckle. The last time the vampire had been here Sherlock had sensed an almost infatuation. He could play on that. He kept his act strong though; there couldn't be any suspicion that it was genuine. Mycroft could act cold of course, but Sherlock had to act like he was the happiest to see The Lord. He clasped the back of Moriarty’s neck looking him over. "You haven't aged a day my friend," Sherlock said, blood red eyes completely disregarding Alexander, who stood behind the Irish vampire, carrying his bags. The Adler narrowed his eyes slightly. Sherlock should be happy to see him, not the other. Typical Holmes behavior.

 

Greg peeked out of Mycroft's window, making sure no unsavory vampires could see. "He's here," he said, closing the curtains and coming back to the bed. Mrs. Hudson had found them and served breakfast, nothing too lavish, and had began making a reason for her to be around that room. She peeled the walls down, like the wallpaper had grown old and started flaking off, and drilled holes in the wall. She was taking no short cuts, and had just started fixing it with careful precision when Moriarty arrived.

 

Moriarty gave a rather wide grin now, most definitely liking the way the younger Holmes was treating him, as the behavior seemed to stroke the monster inside a very good way. "Neither have you. Still as wonderfully spritely as I remember," He purred, never once noticing the rather angered Adler behind him. Irene kept herself calm and cool and sleek, expression delicate, though the second her red eyes were laid on someone they quickly shifted away. "It's wonderful to be back here, Sherlock. Really is." He nodded his head a bit, looking at the other vampire before turning, moving to the Adlers. "I was just dropping by to check on these darlings," He touched Irene's cheek in a way that looked soft, though his nails scraped against a skin in a way that was almost painful. "When I thought I should pay a visit to the Holmes. It's always such a treat to see you." He was talking about Sherlock, of course- to younger Holmes was far more interesting than the elder. Sherlock endeared to him greatly, intellectual, and a game he was sure he would enjoy. The only reason he hadn't already forced his repulsion on the other to make him feel as he wanted him to feel was because he did want it to be genuine. Jim would only do that if worse came to worse, though he was sure it wouldn't. As he looked to Sherlock once again, that cracked smirk on his face, red eyes flashing with something unknown, he was already extending out his mind to the humans around. Jim's conscious came out in invisible, smoky threads, wriggling their way into the human’s minds that were around, each of them giving a visible twitch, though it was hardly noticeable. There he planted his seed, letting himself settle deep within the little mortals, waiting for the moment he would need to command them.

 

John watched Greg, finding himself a bit more collected than he had been the day before. Giving a small nod and a grunt of acknowledgement, John remained on the edge of the bed, letting out a slow breath and swallowing thickly. He couldn't help but be worried- for Sherlock, for the humans, for everyone in the manor really.

 

Sherlock walked forward, barely keeping his gaze on the Adlers, shrugging. "We're more interesting," he hummed, though on that he looked to Alex, frowning just slightly. The other huffed slowly. He would probably do the same had he been in the Holmes' position he'd follow after Moriarty like a puppy too, he was a bloody psychopath. Alex walked to the door, putting the luggage on the ground for the humans to take. It was almost a power play, to get a vampire to do a slaves’ task, Sherlock supposed. The brunet stood tall, going to the entrance to his home, giving Mycroft a small reassuring smile. He had this, he had some sort of control, he was fine. "Come inside Jim, it's much nicer," he ushered. The sooner he was in the sooner he'd be out, the sooner he'd be gone.

 

More than anything, Moriarty enjoyed having power over others. It was exciting, really. More than exciting. He watched as the Holmes' slaves scuttled away with the bags, raising a brow slightly. His own slaves were more mindless than anything, or perhaps soulless would have been a better word for them. They hadn't been frightened into submission- he'd broken them down into itty bitty little bits, and put them back together again in exactly the way he wanted them to be. It got boring, occasionally, and usually he ended up killing most of them, though still, it provided a little entertainment, and it helped ease the monster as well. "You've always had a lovely place." He looked around the manor, eyes flicking around before sweeping over to Sherlock, grinning before moving away. "Would you mind having one of yours give me a drink? I'm parched."

 

Mycroft resisted the urge to twitch. "Of course." He said tightly before placing on a mask of neutrality, looking over to one of their slaves and giving a nod, hoping that the human could see the apology in his eyes that would most likely come out from his lips later. The woman, timid and more than just frightened, moved forwards. Moriarty seemed far too gentle for someone like himself, fingers taking her chin in hand before he tilted her neck to the side, the skin taught. His movements were slowed slightly, though it was simply to make the slave all the more nervous before his fangs sunk in. She gasped, looking almost like a dying fish as his fangs sink deeper than they should have. Mycroft remained still, showing no sign of anger or distress, simply watching. When Moriarty was done, his mouth moving away from the humans neck. Immediately she dropped, several coming round to almost drag her away. Jim pulled out a handkerchief from his breast pocket, dabbing it around his mouth with a lazy smile, though his eyes bored into Mycroft's. He made no sign of even the slightest annoyance, the smugness dropping away from Jim's expression slightly.

 

Sherlock blinked, but followed his brother’s lead, simply watching, as if the behaviour wasn't cruel or terrible. He came forward, swallowing to remain composed, touching the small of Moriarty’s back. "Yes well, the same home gets slightly tedious, as I'm sure you know." He chuckled, ushering the shorter vampire into the lounge, glancing over his shoulder just briefly to check that the female Moriarty had drained was being taken care of, and then turned back to the vampire, smile back in place. "So what have you been up to?" He asked, offering a lavish deep red seat up for him to sit on, before sitting on the one opposite.

 

Alexander hesitated at the door, about to go in, but he looked to his older sister. "Should we go in too?" He asked, frowning. Would that be rude? Or would it be fine... Irene would know.

 

Irene watched them go, debating before stepping in. "Moriarty will need us." She said simply. The plan wouldn't exactly work if they weren't there to usher the human out, or at the very least take control of several for him.

 

"Nothing, really. It's all been so boring." The Irishman went at a lazy, almost luxurious pace, eyes flickering around at the humans he was quickly planting his consciousness in. In an hour or so, he would have the whole household under control, really. "Everyone's so tedious, but the problems they come to me with are delicious."

 

Alex nodded, following after his sister. This would be good for them. If the Holmes house fell, even if it was just these two, then it would help his own coven get more power. And Sherlock didn't care about him, he deserved what he got. Alex swallowed, moving to stand at Moriarty’s left, his sister taking his right, the higher position.

 

Sherlock nodded, sighing dramatically. "The boring bit, I agree so strongly with," he drawled, rolling his eyes, before not pausing as he continued speaking. "And bloody people with their problems, I can't deal with all their business. How you do it I don't know." That was slightly true, though in relation to other things, other than vampires and clients.

 

"They're petty, but provide distraction." Moriarty gave a little animated shrug, eyeing one of the humans and slightly giving the push to find Watson. The human’s moves looked natural, still afraid of cowering before he went the other way to do as he was told. Perfect. "I don't know how you keep yourself from dying again, Sherlock, I really don't. I'm hearing you don't play your little games with Alexander anymore." His eyes flickered back to the Adler once. "Though I'm sure you have your own fun with your little pets."

 

Sherlock felt his stomach drop, but didn't let it show. "Yes well, my brother has forbidden me from going along," he drawled, curling his lip at his elder. A half truth. He didn't want to do that to John either. "And no humans take my fancy here. Far too fragile and breakable." He curled his lip further, and the emotion he showed was a rebuffed type of what he was actually feeling. The more angry and spiteful version of the worry he actually felt for the blond.

 

"Simply makes it all the more fun." Moriarty gave a wolfish grin, showing his teeth this time. They stood out like white gravestones in his mouth, as if marking all the lives he had taken, though it was only a fraction of that number. His fangs were like polished stone, white and pearly and still a bit red from the blood he had recently drank.

 

Sherlock scoffed slightly. "I can't deal with the screaming and crying," he drawled, rolling his eyes. "I tried once," he would feel guilty for saying this later, "and the disgusting cretin pissed himself." Sherlock made an expression of pure disgust, hoping Mycroft wasn't judging him too harshly. It was necessary for the act, he didn't actually mean it.

 

Jim chuckled lightly. "Oh, I simply love that. Not the pissing part, but I'm sure it would have been awfully gorgeous to see that. I didn't exactly think you would have done that- you're more on the side of the angels." He said, tilting his head to the side. "I'm glad to see I was wrong." Mycroft watched from afar, though his expression didn't change. He knew what Sherlock was saying was a part of the act, though did he really have to bring that up? He'd have to have a small talk with his brother about it later, once they were gone.

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Are any of our kind on the side of the angels?" He drawled, crossing his ankles. "We're all spawn of demons, abominations. No matter how hard we try, we'll still be on the side of darkness," he gave a lopsided smile, though he could feel his brother’s eyes on him. He would get chided later probably, as was typical of Mycroft's behavior.

 

"Such is truth." Jim nodded his head as he hummed slightly. "Though I thought you were softer from being around these things so much." He nodded his head towards one of the slaves, who cringed slightly as attention was brought to him. "I'm happy to see otherwise." He rubbed up close to the other, in a way similar to that of a cat.

 

Sherlock wanted to gag, but grinned instead, standing and moving over to Moriarty, plopping himself down on his lap. "Revolting things, humans," he drawled, playing with some hair on his head, making sure not to ruffle it too much. He heard a small hiss come from Alex, but ignored it. "I much prefer vampires." He purred, leaning forward to trail his lips along Jim's ear before standing then sitting back down on his own seat. "The whole inter-breed couples make me sick, honestly. Keep relationships pure for Christ's sake." Sherlock huffed, and didn't flick his eyes to his brother. He meant none of it, he hoped Mycroft knew.

 

"Oh, I _know_ ," Jim drew out the last word a bit as Mycroft sat himself down as well, internally feeling repulsed by almost all of it. "It's disgusting. Can you imagine it? Being with a human? Besides the occasional sex, honestly, I don't know what they'd have to offer." He eyed Sherlock the entire time, Irene promptly sitting beside Jim and her brother, looking to Alexander sharply at the noise he had made.

 

Sherlock hummed in agreement. "Absolutely. All they do is die. And get emotional. And eat your food. And the blood." Sherlock paused, biting his bottom lip then continuing. "Imagine drinking from them while fucking them into the ground," he mused, eyes sparkling slightly. The idea was actually appealing to the young vampire, though if ever asked seriously he'd say it was all for the act.

 

Alex sent a soft glare Irene's way. They weren't all supposed to get all cozy and warm, one of them had to be alert and ready. He sniffed, though ducked his head, not wanting attention to come his way.

 

A tingle of pleasure went through his system at the thought, his tongue flicking out over his teeth. "I've done it before- minus the drinking, of course. I was visiting in one of the traders, and I wouldn't ever drink from them. Filthy blood. Lots of humans there though. There was one I fucked... and _oh_ he was rather good. The ones that fight the most are the best, you know." He said with a nod, his red eyes flashing. "Oh the noises he made... the crying was a bore after a while, really. Had to get him down myself one time." Jim looked down at his nails absently, picking something out from them.

 

Sherlock blinked, but shook his head internally. There was no way that Moriarty was the one who... Of course not, it was just a coincidence. It was very unlikely that it was, it was actually impossible. Sherlock yawned, crossing his ankles. He didn't want to hesitate too long, this was nothing to do with John, it can't have been, so he had to keep acting. Just in case, he'd change the subject. "Those disgusting traders," Sherlock shuddered. "The scum of the Earth." He curled his lip.

 

"I do have to admit that they are a bit... grimy..." The word was used in a slight tone of distaste. "...though they're work is one I would have to admire. Keeping all of those humans in line..." The vampire’s eyes flashed for a moment, the parasite pushing at his smile again. Of course, he'd fucked quite a few humans in trafficking in the past- all of their faces seemed to mix together, really, and besides, humans all tended to look the same to him.

 

Sherlock hummed in agreement. "It would be a lot of work, trying to control a large number of scared and frenzied humans." He said, not glancing to his slaves. If he didn't respect them then he wouldn't pay them the time of day. "Must be a tiring job though, humans are normally rather stubborn. Won't give their livelihoods up too easily."

 

Moriarty gave a hum of agreement, his eyes sliding to Irene. "You had yourself a rather lively one, didn't you?" He cocked his head to the side slightly, his eyes flickering to the other Adler and sharpening for a moment. They were guests- he could keep his alertness to a more unnoticeable level. Mycroft was already beginning to pay him for too much attention.

 

"I did." Irene gave a delicate little smile, crossing her legs. "She was awfully sweet once I did get her down..." Of course, she was using 'sweet' in another sort of way.

 

Sherlock felt like a weight lifted from his shoulders when Moriarty's gaze left him, and he let out a small breath, crossing his legs and watching with a flat gaze.

 

Alex curled his lip only slightly, watching Sherlock. It was almost like he was acting so animated. The Adler scoffed internally, of course he was acting. Sherlock wasn't this happy on the best of days, let alone when his home was under threat.

 

Irene's eyes moved to her brother again, narrowing slightly, though she still smiled all the same. Mycroft chose then to act, standing slightly and brushing himself off for no particular reason. "If you'll excuse me for a moment," He needed to rid himself of this company before became too disgusted with them. The vampire swept out of the room, Moriarty's eyes following him.

 

"Perhaps you two should take your leave as well," Jim purred, Irene looking at him for a moment before picking herself up daintily, looking to Alexander for him to follow. Moriarty made sure they were both gone before picking himself up, using his inhuman speed to make himself almost a blur, the vampire placing himself onto Sherlock’s lap. He was almost making himself look lustful, though it was more of a wolfish, predatory smile on his face, bearing his fangs in the smile as he kept the other in the chair. "Having humans is such a bore," He said lightly. "You know that, don't you, Sherly? Vampires are far better, as you said." He bubbled absently on the others ear, all the while letting his mental fingers prod at the others mind, trying to gain access into that deliciously genius brain.

 

Alex followed after his sister, turning to glance at Sherlock. He hoped Moriarty wouldn't do anything too, distasteful. He grit his teeth and kept beside Irene, not uttering his worries. Sherlock could take care of himself.

 


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
> 
> ENJOYXX

Sherlock barely flinched, he'd expected as much. He hummed in agreement, winding an arm around the back of Jim, holding his waist. He felt like his mind was being inspected, and he felt himself putting up careful walls. He tensed slightly though, and shifted so it was more comfortably under the Irishman. "Indeed I did say that," he conceded, looking up to Moriarty with raised eyebrows.

 

Moriarty gave a small hum, not showing any of his distaste for the walls as his mouth moved down, taking a nice nibble out of the flesh of Sherlock’s neck. "There's one thing I do dislike about our kind though," His teeth left impressions in the skin. "We don't bleed." That was a horrid thing. The taste of blood during sex was one major thing anyone of their kind could enjoy, though those without repulsion or even glamour or left with crying, screaming little lumps of humans. It was horrid, really. Even if he had a nice little snack off of the one human, he didn't think that more blood would ever do anyone harm. Or, at least not do him harm. One of the humans caught his attention, scuttling to the side of the room and watching them from afar. Given orders by Mycroft to make sure nothing went wrong- oh, the insufferable Holmes. Without even batting an eye, Moriarty began to unbutton the top of Sherlock’s shirt as he gave a quick prod to a not so nice part of the slaves mind, a strangled sound coming out of their throat as he fell to the ground, a slight spasm moving through his body and blood trickling slightly out of his nose. Jim simply continued his ministrations, barely even bothered.

 

Sherlock watched Jim for a moment, then exposed his neck further, against every fiber of his being telling him not to. He heard the servant fall, and let out a playful, almost warning growl as he felt his stomach drop in the worst kind of way. He prayed to any gods that he hadn't killed the man, if the Irishman had it meant he'd become stronger, and no one needed that. "Those are my toys," he hissed, glaring softly at the vampire above him. "I'd appreciate if you didn't break them." He grinned though, throwing his free arm over Jim's neck, fighting the instinct gag and run. Moriarty was a predator, say, a lion, and Sherlock could barely be considered a lynx next to him. He let his fangs extend, and leaned forward, trailing a tongue along Jim's throat.

 

The human, of course, wasn't dead- simply unconscious. The wonders of the brain and body, really. Jim grinned as he felt the others tongue move over his throat, baring it only slightly as he pouted. "Oh, but Sherly...." He whined in an almost childish manner before giving a little shrug. "I won't be _too_ mean to them, only if they get annoying...." His hand reached down, doing down the rest of the buttons and exposing more of the lovely skin.

 

Sherlock arched his back into the vile touch, chuckling. "If you do..." He warned, biting down, "I'll have to punish you." The Holmes didn't make any movement to take Moriarty's clothing, leaving him to think he was in the lead. He felt his shirt fall off him and felt slightly nauseous. He bit down again, licking over it quickly after.

 

Moriarty’s eyes flashed in slight excitement, his grin making him seem more and more like a predator as he leaned down, not even looking as to where his hand was, simply knowing by the feeling. Fingertips scraped down the others firm stomach, almost leaving small, red lines as they went. "Oh-ho-ho...will you?" He purred, voice silky and soft as his fingers nimbly undid the buttons of the others trousers. "Sorry, Sherly, but Daddy's the only one who does the punishing around here..."

 

Sherlock's stomach clenched unpleasantly as he canted a brow. "Oh it's Daddy now?" He purred, lifting his hips so his pants could be pulled over his hips. He tilted his head, inhaling carefully at the touch of pain he got from Moriarty's claws. "What if I don't let Daddy punish me?" He asked, biting firmly, leaving holes that were just that, holes in Jim's neck. They leaked only slightly of the blood the Irishman had just consumed, and Sherlock licked it up, chuckling.

 

The little lift definitely earned Jim's approval, the vampire not minding the others fangs biting into his neck. It barely hurt, and even if it did, he probably wouldn't even feel it at the moment, getting too enthralled with Sherlock. "Oh, you're going to be a naughty boy then? Daddy does like naughty ones..." He growled playfully, or perhaps not too playfully. He opened his mouth to say something else, though a sudden 'ping' almost seemed to sound off in his mind. The human he had sent off was quickly feeding him information. Ah. So, John Watson was located in Mycroft's room? A bit tricky to get into, but Jim was more than sure he could manage. It was just one silly little bedroom- wouldn't be hard at all. He'd nearly gotten all of the house under control, and the ones that weren't... well, they were being taken care of at the moment. Harry, Clara, and Molly, as he had been informed, were currently being knocked out and quickly put away in the shed in the back until further notice, several of his adorable little drones currently making their way up to the bedroom. A frail vampire was in there, though he was more than sure she wouldn't be all too hard to handle. Wouldn't want to hurt the humans. Bringing himself back to the present, Jim slipped his hand inside the others pants, immediately gripping his length. "Tell me that you like it- that you love this. Won't you tell that to your Daddy?" He tilted his head to the side as he stroked hard and fast, not caring for build-up all too much. Things were getting prepared, and he didn't have too much time. He'd have Sherlock later- now, he just had to make him come.

 

Sherlock hissed his through his teeth, watching the way Moriarty's eyes spaced in and out of the present. Something was happening, and he currently was occupying Sherlock's time. He had to find a way to not be so vulnerable, to which he was very at the moment. He growled, grinning, thrusting into the others hand. It was pleasurable to the vessel, not himself, and he froze, eyes wide. "Do you smell that?" He asked, sitting up. It was a pathetic excuse, oh did Sherlock know, but it was all he had. "The slaves are fighting again," he drawled, sitting up and shaking his head. "Can we pause this Daddy?" He asked, eyes big and innocent. He smirked, removing Moriarty's hand from his prick. He almost looked dumbfounded, and Sherlock used that hesitation to tuck himself away, carefully pushing Jim off. "I'll be right back," he purred, pressing a kiss to Jim's neck, straightening himself up as he stood and began to walk away. He didn't want to use foresight, he already knew. John. Sherlock took off up the stairs when he had cleared the room, heading towards Mycroft's bedroom.

 

Mrs. Hudson was repainting the wall when she saw three of the help coming towards her. She paused, observing for a moment. They seemed to be a little blank, and the old vampire sighed, dropping her things and moving into Mycroft's room. "Oh dearie," she hummed, bustling over to Greg and John and ushering them around. "Right lovelies, into the bathroom we go." She smiled, picking both of them up easily and placing them in the large room. She smiled pleasantly, looking to Gregory, and she said carefully, "Lock that door, and don't open it for anyone." She smile again, and closed the door, closing the main bedroom's door, then set about moving all the furniture in front of it. Mrs. Hudson had to keep Mycroft's and Sherlock's humans safe, it was the least she could do. She hummed while she worked, not worried at all.

 

Greg looked over to John, then sighed, saluting the closed door. "You got it Mrs. H," he said, locking the door, and in a vain attempt to slow any attack coming, wedged the door stop under the foot of the door as tightly as it would go. He turned to the blond, frowning for a moment. "Look spritely Watson, there's a battle going on outside."

 

Moriarty was a small bit annoyed with the fact that Sherlock suddenly seemed to put his interest elsewhere, though the fact that he had called him Daddy did appease him a bit. Huffing silently, the vampire sat down on the chair that Sherlock had been in, tapping his fingers along the arm of the chair and silently fuming. Of course, the idea did come that Sherlock had figured it out, though that was hardly of any matter. He'd have Sherlock sometime or another. He would make sure of such. Letting out a sigh through his nostrils, Jim quickly poked at the Adlers' minds, telling them to join the little humans to take down the elder, just in case.

 

John was a bit more than confused when Mrs. Hudson suddenly came for them, tensing at the thought that there was someone outside- Moriarty, the Adlers, whoever else. It was an absolute shock when the elderly woman actually picked them up, though his mind kept on reminding him that she was a vampire. Still, that didn't really help as he was dumped off into the bathroom, watching rather dumbly as Greg began to lock the door. "A- A battle?" He questioned, still rather confused? Mrs. Hudson wouldn't actually be able to fight off someone, would she?

 

Along with the little troop of humans, whose expressions had dulled down to more of a blank slate than anything, Irene quickly made her way behind them, pulling Alexander along with her. He could have Sherlock later, or if all went well, he could have John instead.

 

Sherlock made it the correct floor and saw the three humans and the two Adler's trying to break down the door over Mrs. Hudson's rather calm protests through the wall.

 

"Look children, you don't have to do this, there are other options."

"Dearies, Jim isn't worth it. You don't have to harm anyone."

Sherlock felt a feeling of adoration tug for the old vampire. Even with her back up against a wall she was still trying. Sherlock calmly walked forward, erection already down so he wouldn’t have to worry about being embarrassed.

"Stand down, the pair of you," he said calmly, mimicking Mrs. Hudson's tone. He came up, brushing past the humans who would be no threat at all in their state. "Irene stop," he said, as she attacked the door. He turned his gaze to Alex and raised his eyebrows. "Alexander, you know you don't want to do this."

 

The younger Adler curled his lip and leapt at Sherlock. "You don't fucking care for me, why would I do anything for you?" He spat, and Sherlock let out a small breath.

 

"Because you care for me." He replied plainly, then elaborated further, pushing the vampire away from him. "And you bloody well don't want to listen to Moriarty. You may not like humans, but you dislike him more than them." He knew he was right as Alex pulled away with a scowl, internally debating before going to his sister and pulling her away from the door.

"Now what?" He growled, holding his sister tightly.

Sherlock frowned. "Hold tight Mrs. Hudson," he muttered through the door, and huffed. Where the hell was Mycroft?

 

Irene clawed at Alexander’s arm, baring her teeth. "What are you doing?" Moriarty would surely kill them if they failed, and besides, Irene did want the little blond for herself. He would make a lovely toy, she was sure. So why was Alexander being so selfish? It hardly made sense to her, really- didn't he know the consequences of failing Moriarty, or better yet, turning ones back to him? Was he an idiot? The humans remained where they were, some still trying to get through the door, hitting their shoulders against it in an attempt to barge through.

 

Currently, Mycroft was trying to deal with the humans attacking him. He knew very well that they were doing so under Jim's command, which was more than simply annoying, and was trying to make him way through without hurting any of them. They were hardly hurting him- mostly, they just felt like flies, Mycroft gently trying to shoo them away as their fists batted at them. He didn't want to break them, or accidentally kill them- mostly, he was just giving them gentle nudges, moving them down. This, of course, was not making his speed any faster, and quite honestly, simply annoying him.

 

And, of course, Moriarty was growing more and more annoyed himself. Getting up from the chair, the vampire made his way up the stairs, absently rolling his eyes at the human’s pathetic attempts, his expression not even cracking at the sight of Alexander holding back Irene. It was all of little matter- he'd come here to do something about the blond, and so he would. He didn't care if that meant killing it or giving it to the Adlers- he'd simply do something to it, and then all of this would be over and done with. "Oh Sherly," He started in a singsongy sort of voice, the humans stopping in their attempts to break down the door, as Moriarty’s influence was being spread elsewhere- past the walls, past the door, into the bathroom. "What ever are you doing? This doesn't make Daddy happy-" He shook his head, the parasite behind the mask he wore crawling around, trying to get out as he bared his teeth in a grin.

 

Alexander looked to Sherlock, eyes wide. He trusted Sherlock with his life, he didn't know why, and would do anything for him. Sherlock would surely get them out of this. They had to get through this, there was no other option. "Shut up Irene," he growled, watching both of the more powerful vampires. Sherlock had to win, he was on home turf right?

 

Sherlock froze. Shit. He was in range to hurt Greg and John, shit. He turned; face melting into one of teasing pleasantness. "They're my toys Daddy," he said carefully, walking forward and acting sheepish. "It's not fair that you get to control them." He pouted, coming forward enough to clutch the Irishman's collar. "Please leave them be Daddy," he almost begged. "You can do anything to me, you can make me your pet, just let everyone go." He leaned forward, touching Jim's lips with his own. It was probably no use, trying to bargain with a psychopath, but he had to try. He wouldn't give up without some sort of fight. And if he did it in a violent manner it was very likely that he'd kill everyone he had his repulsion in. "Daddy," he begged, pulling himself as close as he could to the other vampire. "I'll be your little bitch, I'll do it Daddy." His eyes told no lie, because he would do it, and even Alex behind him crying out like he was in physical pain did not distract him.

 

Well, for the most part, Moriarty would have agreed to it. The repetition of the name made him all the more happy, honestly, the monster purring and urging for more. He could nearly see it- Sherlock lain out, waiting for him, calling him Daddy over and over. Oh yes. Now that was good. That was very good. But that wasn't the point of this. The Adlers had made him come to get the human, so he'd do so. After, he'd take Sherlock. He had a little business to do, after all. "Not yet- Daddy does have something to do first," He purred, flicking out his repulsion and wrapping it around one of the humans minds -Gregory, it supplied quickly, though Moriarty honestly didn't need the name. Bring John Watson out. Bring him out for me. The orders were clear and cut, smashing against the resistance that the conscious was already trying to put up.

 

"I wasn't a part of this, Moriarty," Irene began to say, ignoring Alexander’s cries. She did love Sherlock, in her own sense, but her skin was the first she was going to save. "I was doing what you told us to do."

 

Sherlock felt pathetic, begging like he was. There was no way he would let the Adler's take John. No way. "Please, Daddy, don't do this. If you do, you won't have me, I won't let you. If you hurt John or hand him over I'll kill you." He hadn't actually meant to say that bit, and he clamped his mouth shut. He paused for a moment, before starting again. "John's my toy, you don't get to touch him, Daddy, I swear to God." He was shaking his hands slightly, drilling it into Moriarty's mind.

 

Alexander snarled, shoving his sister against the wall. "Shut up Irene," he growled, wishing Sherlock would say those things about him. But he never would. So Alex was doing what he could for the vampire who didn't love him, because he did, more than anything.

 

Greg was pacing the bathroom when he felt his mind get entered. He put up the biggest fight he could for a moment, but there was no way he was resisting this. He turned to John, smiling pleasantly. "Fight's over John," he hummed pleasantly, grabbing the blonds wrist and dragging him towards the bathroom door. He unlocked it than kicked it open, man handling John into the room. The butler swore, a small bit of him coming out when he hissed a quiet, "Sorry mate." He shoved the shorter man forward, starting to move all the furniture out of the way.

Mrs. Hudson let out a small noise of surprise. "Gregory, stop this," she said, going over to him. The butler snarled, shoving her away. He had to get John Watson to the man.

 

Moriarty simply grinned. "Such a naughty boy, saying those things...." He reached out a hand, letting his claw curl out and touch delicately beneath Sherlocks chin, lifting the others head slightly. "You don't have much of a choice, my little Sherly. One way or another, I'll have you. Once we get this little problem out of the way, I'll have you." Whether Sherlock liked it or not. He always did get what he wanted- everything always did go his way. The smiled pulled wider on his lips when he felt that Gregory was doing as he was told, Moriarty pushing at him to go a bit faster. He wanted this over and done with.

 

John, in all honesty, was too dumbstruck to even think of what was going on when Greg suddenly took his wrist, pulling him out of the room. What? The fight was over? Then why was he apologizing. Frowning, John allowed himself to be pulled out for now, looking to Mrs. Hudson carefully. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. The man swallowed thickly, staring at the other with wide eyes. "Greg? Greg, are you okay?" He said softly, brows furrowing.

 

Sherlock kept begging, pressing against Moriarty. He couldn't be hostile, as much as he wanted. He heard John through the door, he would be hurt, and he couldn't let that happen. Jesus, he couldn't let John get hurt. He was almost sobbing, saying “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” over and over again. Holy crap he couldn't be doing this.

 

Mrs. Hudson huffed, a sound that suggested her soufflé didn't cool properly, rather than what was actually happening. "Come here dear," she said carefully, walking towards John and ushering him towards the window. She smiled pleasantly, wrapping her arms around him. It was actually a rather good option for the pair of them. It was turning dusk, so the heat of the sun would be gone, why hadn’t she thought of it before? "Trust me dearie," she hummed, diving out the window. She made sure she landed first, the fall wasn't too far just from the second floor, and she held John carefully. "Are you okay John?" She asked, keeping him still until she was sure he was alright. As long as he wasn't in the room with Gregory, who happened to be not be in the right frame of mind.

 

Greg cried out, looking forlornly out the window. He wasn't an idiot, he wouldn't jump out, so he yelled through the door. "Mrs. H just jumped out the window with John!" He informed the hallway, still trying to move the furniture out of the way.

 

Moriarty cared little for how Sherlock was begging for his pet to be saved, simply raising his brows absently before his ears twitched with the sound of Gregory's shout. Ah, the old one- he'd have to take care of her. Couldn't have someone like that wandering around then, could he? "Daddy'll be right back, don't you worry. I'll tell you what- you can play with your little pet before he goes away. We can play with him together." He grinned before he was gone, quite literally a blur. This was becoming far too tedious for his liking, but the thought of fucking Sherlock and possibly the human at the same time was deliriously delicious.

 

To say the least, John was more than confused. He let out a shout as Mrs. Hudson just practically flung herself out the window, breathing heavily and internally panicking before he let out it, managing to get out from the old woman's hold. "Jesus- Jesus Christ, what... what the hell is going on?!" He shouted both to the universe and to Mrs. Hudson, trying to stabilize himself properly. "I don't-" And, basically, that was all he got out before something was nearly running him over, the wind knocking out from his lungs as he rolled, something forcing onto his back as he tried to catch his breath and actually make his lungs do their job.

 

Red eyes gleamed down at him, the parasite, the spider, the monster clear and evident on the vampires face. "Hello, Johnny-boy!"

 

As Moriarty removed himself from sight and Sherlock felt the trying and complacent act crack, then shatter as he snarled in an animalistic way. His fangs descended to their full length, and he took off, leaving the Adler's to their own devices, and the suddenly very lost looking humans as well. He crashed out the wall, Sherlock did, and hit the ground running, growl rumbling out of his chest as he slammed into Moriarty's side, getting him off John, and he threw the other vampire onto the ground, ripping and attacking him with an unbridled fury. How dare he even think that Sherlock would do that to John? Was he seriously that gullible? Sherlock snarled like a rabid dog, trying to get his hands around Jim's throat and rip his head off.

 

Greg blinked, looking around himself, swearing loudly and looking out the window. He threw himself into moving the furniture out of the way. He needed to get Mycroft, he heard animals fighting, but he knew it was Sherlock. Fuck, he'd get slaughtered. "Mycroft!" He screamed, kicking furiously at the door. 

 

Mrs. Hudson stood, looking down at John. "I'm sorry dear," she said quickly, kind eyes growing furious as she let her fangs grow out. She stepped forward to the brawl, ready to help Sherlock if she needed to.

 

Alex held his sister, hissing into her ear. "Are you going to try and hurt anyone?" He asked, not loosening as he waited for a reply. "I'm not letting you hurt John, I'm sorry Irene." He pursed his lips, listening to the battle, hoping that Sherlock was winning.

 

A snarl ripped out from Moriarty’s throat, fangs descending down to their full length as his fingers turned to claws, ripping at Sherlock’s back and chest, managing to get his feet up and push against the younger vampires stomach, throwing him off and swiftly getting to his feet, slamming the other down to the ground with a force that nearly shook the Earth itself. "You don't want to do it, but I'll make you." He hissed, leaning down close to the others face, venom already dripping down from his fangs. "I'll make you do it, and I'll make you like it, the way he'll cry buckets and buckets, and scream, and bleed. I'll make you like all of it." He grinned, eyes flashing and the parasite now clear and crawling over his features, as he continued to attack. He wouldn't kill him. He'd do something close, but he wouldn't kill him yet. First came the business.

 

The elder Holmes ears twitched with the sound of fighting and Greg shrieking his name, though he had yet to smell the man’s blood, which meant that it was only Sherlock who was in trouble. Managing to push several humans aside, apologizing to them immediately, Mycroft darted down the halls, out of the manor, and into the fight. A growl resonated deep in his throat as he threw Jim off of his brother, grabbing him by his collar and slamming him into the wall repeatedly, both of them shrieking like angry cats. John, who was more than just a little confused, and more than a little frightened, scrambled over to Sherlock, eyes wide and heart racing as he helped the other upright, trying to check over his wounds. "Are you alright?" His eyes wandered over to the fight, Moriarty trying to bite at Mycroft's throat as the vampire continued to slam him into the wall, a hand on Jim's forehead as he tried to pull him back.

 

Sherlock groaned, red eyes rolling around in his head as he tried to find his equilibrium from the ground. What was John doing in the middle of the battlefield? He heard his brother fighting for him, and rolled into his stomach, taking to breaths and then recovering himself. He saw Mrs. Hudson, she was starting to approach the Mycroft/Moriarty thing. "Get him out of here," he ordered, pushing John aside softly as the older vampire nodded, almost pleased that she didn't have to get involved. She picked him up, not wanting to discuss this, and darted around the side of the house, just as Sherlock made his fingers into long claws and came up behind the vampire trying to kill his brother. He grabbed Jim's waist, spinning and throwing him onto the ground, growls and snarls vicious. He moved one hand to the vampire’s throat, picking him up and throwing him down, again, again. "Don't touch my brother!" He shrieked with one throw down. "Don't touch _my_ staff!" Another throw, grip becoming tighter and tighter. "Don't _touch_ John!" He hissed violently, eyes taking a rabid look to them. He was so fucking sick of this vampire. His movements were swift an unbridled, fueled by such an unnatural adrenaline it was potent. " _Don't touch me_!"

 

Mycroft grabbed at his throat when Sherlock threw Moriarty to the side, a dark, sludge like substance coming out of the Irishman’s nose and mouth, dripping off of his chin, and the crown of his head. He looked up to Sherlock, smiling through the pain that came to him, spluttering slightly, gripping the vampire’s wrist tightly in his hand. Mycroft watched, breathing heavily before he righted himself, simply letting the other do as he pleased, though it was rather awful. Moriarty deserved it. "You're-" Jim started, cutting off as the other threw him down again. "You're like me, Sherlock. Just like-" He was thrown down again. "-me. You're going to end up killing him, I know it. _You_ know it. Look-" He let out a gargles sound with the next throw. "-at what you've done so far. Poor, poor Sherly, going to-" Moriarty felt his head smack harshly against the ground. "-kill little Johnny." He grinned, lips pulling up further and further.

 

Mycroft stepped forwards then, coming up behind his brother. "Sherlock... just end this." His voice was soft, looking to the vampire on the ground.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys  
> this is the final chapter
> 
> oh em ghee
> 
> i really really really want to thank everyone for reading and kudosing and being a part of this, it's just been so lovely xx i hope you've enjoyed the ride and i'm just so happy :) so thanks everyone, and for the final time in this story...
> 
> ENJOYXX

Sherlock belonged in the kitchen really, much like he belonged in front of a piano, behind a book or manning a pen, and as soon as he showed his face all the humans present stepped out of the way. While Sherlock’s abilities were some what of a myth, he didn't mind showing them off. "Right, first course, we're having a scallop soup with brioche garlic bread on the side. Sound good?" There was a collective, almost sarcastic, "Yes Chef,” from everyone present. It made Sherlock smile. They all had passions for cooking, and with Sherlock guiding them they'd probably get a good meal done. The vampire started ordering people about, telling them their little tasks to do. He whirred around the kitchen, making sure everyone was doing everything right so it could be served as quickly as possible. Then, while waiting, the younger Holmes started getting table utensils, napkins and cutlery, the like, going out into the dining hall to set up the long table. He'd invite everyone in when he needed to. The job was done quickly enough, and he went back into the kitchen to observe and start a little broth.

 

Greg watched his vampire leave and set down his glass, instead going around and collecting the rest of the alcohol bottles. If people started getting too drunk it'd be a very big mess to clean up in the morning, and if everyone had hang overs, that'd be a nightmare. "Water with lemon for a little whole folks," Greg called out, to a small bit of protesting. Too bad for them, he was boss.

 

Mycroft watched the humans move about the kitchen, a slight smile gracing his lips. They liked to be busy sometimes- it was always good for them to have something to do, to have something to take their minds off of whatever was going on, though currently it was a very good thing for them. "You seem happy." The vampire commented as he walked alongside his brother.

 

Sherlock casually elbowed Mycroft out of the way, moving one hot pan to the stove. "If you are not doing anything helpful could you _please_ leave my kitchen?" He asked, earning a collective chuckle from his temporary chefs. "But thank you, I am very happy that the moment. Moriarty is dead." He grinned at the small whoops he got from the humans, and then settled back into work.

 

The rest of the evening passed in a blur, with only slightly alcoholic drinks getting served after Greg had decided that everyone deserved it. Sherlock ushered everyone in and out of the dining hall, pausing cooking so everyone could have a dish. He of course, stayed in the kitchen while everyone ate to prepare the next course. He'd never been one for parties, and while the celebration was a good one, it was very draining.

It was about two AM by the time cooking and drinks and Gregory getting up on the table to offer a toast to the vampires who kept them safe were over, everyone helping clean up to their best ability before trickling off to bed. The manor still thrummed with life as the Sherlock could actually smell the happiness, and doubted it would ever be felt again in that home. The staff were obviously tight knit, and the basic rejoicing the death of Moriarty had caused had risen to a fever pitch with everyone present and enjoying themselves.

 

Greg found Mycroft and leaned into him when it was all over. He was only slightly extremely drunk. "I love you," he mumbled, smiling tiredly into the others chest. "Please take me to bed."

 

Sherlock floated around the dining hall, wiping the table of extra residue and everything the humans had missed. He could consider himself their friend, and was pleased when he realized that no other vampire home had probably done that. Sherlock smiled as he imprinted this night into his memory bank. The only person who could have made this moment better was a certain blond, though Sherlock couldn't be sure where he had floated off to as they'd somewhat separated from one another during the night, what with Sherlock helping in the kitchen and everything. 

 

Mycroft had, actually, stayed in the kitchen with Sherlock. As much as his brother hated social events, Mycroft hated them at least ten times more. They were always so loud, especially now, a few getting drunk and rowdy. They didn't even quiet down while they ate, telling jokes and sharing stories to one another. The night went on, Mycroft finally stepping out from the kitchen when most were leaving. He raised a brow when Greg was suddenly at his side, smiling slightly as he rested a hand delicately on the mans back. "I love you too." Mycroft responded then, tilting his head down a bit to kiss Greg's greying hair. "Come then," His voice was soft turning the man a bit so that he could hook his arm under the others knee, lifting him up. It would be far faster to walk this way rather than to have Greg stumble along the entire time. He was only going to take him to the bed, and nothing more. Walking up the stairs at a moderately fast pace, -or at least fast for a human- the vampire made it to his own room, shutting the door with his foot behind him before setting the man down carefully on the mattress, sitting down on the edge and beginning to gently card a hand through the humans hair, fingers moving down to trace over his jaw in a loving sort of manner.

 

John had actually stayed away from the alcohol quite well, simply enjoying the evening while it lasted, laughing and toasting with the rest of them. It made him feel much better, really, having this sort of normality. It certainly lightened the mood quite a bit for John at least. The man had kept a close eye on his sister the entire time, and when everything was over, he went with Clara to lead her back to their quarters. It was nice that they shared, really- Harry had always liked to be close to Clara in any sort of way, and John was glad that she had supervision besides himself. Once that was sorted, John went around, getting stopped by a few people that clapped him on the back, giving drunken words that he couldn't really understand and didn't really bother to remember as he went back down the halls. Mostly, he just wanted to be alone with Sherlock, if only for a moment. The night had been exciting -at least that bit had- and he just needed a small breather from the crowd. Getting back to the dining hall, John saw the vampire cleaning up what remained of the mess, coming up a little ways beside him. "Hey," He greeted with a small smile. 

 

Greg felt himself be carried and leaned into his vampires chest, holding onto the others chest after feeling a tad nauseous at the movement. Mycroft lay him down slowly, and the spinning slowly stopped as the vampire pet him. Like a dog, but in a living human way. Greg felt a smile touch his lips at his own thoughts. "I love you so so so much," he mumbled, bringing one hand up to catch Mycroft's wrist and bring the cold skin to his lips. He felt his eyelids growing heavy, but he didn't want to fall asleep just yet, it wasn't fair. He was having a moment with his vampire. Greg knew there was something he had to say before falling asleep, it was so important. "I think I'll die a happy soul knowing I loved you," he mumbled, words running into one another. "I will." Then his head lolled to the side, Mycroft's hand still on his face. The silver haired mans breathing evened out, and his body went lax.

 

Sherlock heard familiar footsteps approach behind him, and didn't turn when the greeting was spoken. The vampire finished the table for the moment, eyebrows creased. When he was done, however, the vampire spun, whole face lighting up. Not only was John not drunk like every other human in the house, he looked happy. Like when he'd been outside with the birds. It was a lovely sight. "Good evening," he said, smile pulling his cheeks up as he stepped forward, leaving the cloth on the tabletop. He leaned backwards against it, letting John come to him in a subtle show of not pushing. He hoped it was so subtle it wasn't noticed at all. John was still fragile in his mind, and while imminent threat did not loom, Sherlock considered himself a threat to John's well being. "Did you have a nice night?" He asked, blinking slowly. Surely John would be very tired and would need to sleep, not wanting to be up creating small talk.

 

Mycroft froze slightly at those words, watching as the man fell asleep and simply staring for a very, very long time. He remained in his position by the bed before he finally stood, slipping his hand away from the humans grip. Carefully, the vampire brought the blankets over Greg's body before taking off his waistcoat and shoes, entering the bed and crawling in beside his human. He watched as he slept, stroking his face and hair fingers tracing over his brows and nose and lips, wanting to memorize everything there was about him again and again and again. Mycroft didn't want him to leave him. He didn't want Greg to just disappear into oblivion. But it was simply the way it was supposed to be- there was nothing he could do to change that. There was nothing he could do apart from love Greg until the very end, and longer.

 

John came towards Sherlock, seeing how he was staying back. He didn't really mind- it was nice that he was showing that he could give John his space, that he understood that he needed it. John wasn't even going to deny it himself, really. He needed it, no matter if he didn't exactly like it himself. "Yeah," He gave a yawn, smiling all the same. "What about you? Have fun in the kitchen?" He questioned, before adding on, "It was a lovely meal, by the way."

 

Sherlock smiled. "Thank you, I did enjoy myself. I had my little minions doing whatever I wanted, saying 'Yes Chef', like it was actually a proper kitchen." Talking about it made his eyes glitter slightly, and he opened his arms for the blond, smiling lopsidedly. "I could smell the alcohol being poured, the air actually thrummed with happiness, it was lovely." He pulled the human closer; wrapping his arms around the shorter man’s shoulders.

 

John hummed, letting out a small huff of a laugh, not minding that the other brought him closer, going the rest of the way so his head could rest on the others chest. "Mmm... I didn't partake much in the alcohol part... I wanted to keep an eye on Harry..." He mumbled, closing his eyes. John told himself it only be for a moment, though it was rather hard to open them. "But it was lovely." He nodded his head, though it seemed more like nuzzling than anything.

 

Sherlock smiled, running his hand down John's back, balancing his chin on John's hair. "I think Harry was alright. The worst one tonight was Gregory, he was extremely drunk. I feel sorry for Mycroft." He pressed a soft kiss to the top of John’s head. He felt John's heart rate slowing down, and smirked. The vampire wished he could sleep too, but decided it was enough to doze by a human’s side as they rested. "Would you like to come to bed and sleep?" He asked quietly, bringing his voice down to match the calming mood.

 

John listened as best as he could to what Sherlock was saying, being distracted by his own need for sleep and the feeling of the vampires hands, which was one of the main things that had begun to lull him to sleep. "Hm? Yeah...." He murmured, trying to open his eyes, though failed miserably at doing so, leaning most, if not all, of his weight onto the vampire, though he was more than sure he could handle it. "That'd be," He yawned in between his sentence. "That'd be nice, yeah."

 

Sherlock hummed, and picked John up, moving the blonds legs so they were wrapped around his waist like a little child. He threw John’s arms around his shoulders. Sherlock started walking, arms securely around John's waist. "You are the size of a child," he rumbled, moving his head to the side to open up a space on his shoulder.

 

John didn't mind being picked up, instead enjoying the fact that he didn't have to walk. He huffed in annoyance at the comment, though wasn't all too angry, as Sherlock’s voice made it impossible to feel such a thing. "I'm not..." He grumbled tiredly, still not opening his eyes. It took far too much effort to do so.

 

Sherlock chuckled, moving John's head onto his shoulder, maneuvering himself around furniture so John didn't hit any of it. "The attitude too," he hummed, rubbing the others back like he was a baby.

 

He tried to scowl, though he could only manage a deep frown. "Shaddup...." John pressed his head a bit harder into Sherlock’s shoulder, moving his head to the side and letting his cheek be smushed slightly against it. "'m tired, be nice to me." Turning his head the other way, John gave Sherlock’s neck a small kiss, trying to prompt him to do as he said somehow.

 

Sherlock smiled at the others behavior. There was nothing more endearing, Sherlock decided, and as he pushed the door open to his bedroom and lay John down on the clean bed (he'd have to give Mrs. Hudson some roses), he pressed a soft kiss to John's forehead. "I am being nice to you," he rumbled, running a hand through the others hair. He hesitated, then asked, "Is it okay if I lay with you while you rest?" His tone was soft, and Sherlock was prepared for rejection. He could sit in his couch if he needed to, finish cleaning up the kitchen if he got bored.

 

John slowly got comfortable, opening his eyes blearily at the question. "Yeah- you can." It would be nice to have Sherlock next to him. It would make him feel safer, at the very least, to have him there, though John wasn't exactly sure why he would even want to lay down with him. Sherlock didn't exactly look tired, and wouldn't it be boring just laying there for him?

 

Sherlock smiled, and climbed over the human to crawl under the duvet with him; hesitant to snuggle up to the others warm body and hold him. He did though, doing so slowly, and pressed his knees to the back of John's, snaking an arm underneath him then wrapping an arm around his side. He knew Gregory and Mycroft slept like this, was this comfortable for John? Sherlock was comfortable in any position, so he needed to be sure of the other. "This okay?" He asked quietly, right by John's ear. "I'll move away if you so wish." 

 

John felt Sherlock move in behind him, letting out a huff of laughter knowing he was the little spoon in this situation, though it clearly made sense. Sherlock could quite easily curl over him, the human being small and the vampire being quite long himself. He closed his eyes, feeling as Sherlock got himself comfortable, not minding the slight chill the others body brought. Of course, it wasn't exactly his body temperature that made the shiver go down Johns spine, but more so the fact that his rumbling voice was basically right next to his ear. "No, you're fine." He said, giving a small nod as to not jostle the other. "It's... it's nice. This is nice."

 

Sherlock felt himself smiling, and leaned his forehead on the back of John's head. He'd felt that shiver, and hadn't known if which type of shiver it was until the human had spoken. "Good, very good." He mumbled, letting his eyes fall shut. "Now go to sleep little human," he ordered softly, "I don't want to have a cranky John to order about tomorrow." He smiled lopsidedly, and felt as if he should be yawning, though there was no need to.

 

John huffed at the 'little' part, though didn't need to be told to go to sleep, really. It took a few minutes, but slowly, the man drifted off, his body easing and relaxing in Sherlock’s arms. Soon, the room was just filled with the sound of his soft breathing, the human taking comfort in the fact that the vampire was curled around him, the safety and protection making it far easier to rest.

 

Sherlock felt the human’s body relax, and let out a small breath as the other drifted off. This whole... Relationship with a human thing, he could make it work. Certainly Mycroft and Gregory were doing alright; surely he and John could work it out. And Molly seemed to have forgiven both of them. Moriarty was dead; the Adlers were forever out of their lives. It was like a fresh start. Sherlock smiled softly to himself. He could do that. He could have a fresh start.


End file.
